


and you know you're going to fall

by katertots, Merideath



Category: Thor (Movies), What's Your Number? (2011)
Genre: (past) Ally Darling/Colin Shea, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Banter, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Friendship, Jack Shea, Mild Language, Original Character(s), Past Relationship(s), SHIP DARCY WITH ALL THE THINGS, Sarcasm, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Will Sullivan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katertots/pseuds/katertots, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/pseuds/Merideath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fresh out of college, Darcy Lewis lands a shiny new job in Boston, Mass. The day she moves into her new apartment, she runs into Colin Shea: cop, gorgeous, funny, and a bit of a jackass. A jackass that just so happens to the next door neighbor she may or may not be stealing WiFi from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moving Day

**Author's Note:**

> This verse started many, many moons ago when Katy and I started talking about Chris Evans' terrible movie choices. Though we both think Colin is a great character, there are a lot of flaws in What's Your Number?, most of those flaws have to do with plot (or lack there of) and Ally's character. So, we started plotting out what would happen if Darcy moved in next door. We hashed things out back and forth with several conversations that went a little something like this:
> 
> Meri: What if....  
> Katy: We're writing this.  
> Meri: We aren't.  
> Katy: .....  
> Meri: We're going to have to write this aren't we?  
> Katy: Yup.  
> Meri: We need a title.
> 
> We have approximately eleventy million documents full of notes for this verse. The first chapter has been written for a while and in hopes of writing more, we thought we would dust this off and get it posted. Not sure how many of you will read this, but we have been entertained with the thoroughly elaborate headcanon we have spun for this verse. ~Meri
> 
> Oh, god, you guys (all five of you reading)...seriously. This verse started out as just a cracky conversation one day and now it's this massive thing. A massive thing that I love so hard it's dumb! Cop!Colin and Darcy, y'all. Forever shipping Chris Evans' characters & Darcy Lewis. Shh...it's fine! ~Katy
> 
> P.S. The tags will change and the rating upped as the story progresses from friendship to something more.

'And you know you're going to fall' - _White Rabbit_ , Jefferson Airplane.

 

* * *

 

It’s grey and rainy for most of the ten-hour drive from Virginia to Boston, and Darcy tries to not take that as some kind of bad omen for the move.  She was already out of her comfort zone accepting a job in a city where she didn’t know a single soul; she really doesn’t appreciate the weather mocking her life choices.  

 

The rain is mostly finished by the time she parks the small U-Haul in front of her new building and pull out the keys to the apartment she fell in love with through pictures online.  She’s not much for religion, but as she hefts a couple of boxes out of the truck, she sends up a prayer that her new landlord hasn’t sold her a bill of goods. Darcy manages to get through the front door, side-eyeing the stairs and grimacing at the thought of carrying all of her shit up six flights.  She bypasses the stairs in favor of the elevator, feeling stabby and kind of close to tears when she sees the ‘Out of Order’ sign taped to it.  

 

“Get a grip, Darcy,” she mutters, turning back for the stairs.  Darcy shifts the boxes in her arms and the top one teeters off and crashes to the floor, spilling books across the worn tiles.  “Godfuckingdammit!” she hisses along with a litany of other curses as she kneels down to gather up her books.  

 

There’s a rumble of laughter and heavy footsteps on the stairs as a deep voice calls out, “Need a hand with that?”  

 

Darcy narrows her eyes and discreetly slips the taser out of her bag.  “Maybe.  Depends on who’s asking,” she says coolly, haphazardly tossing books back into the box.  

 

Part of her is already regretting accepting the job and moving to Boston on her own. Her unexpected companion stops in front of her and she sees his feet first: well-worn and scuffed work boots beneath faded blue jeans.  Her eyes flick up to see which resident of her building was nice enough to offer to help, and the shallow part of her tells her that Boston was the right choice.  He’s gorgeous— dark hair, clear blue eyes, light stubble on his face, and an awesome ‘Bluth’s Frozen Banana’ t-shirt stretched across his very well-built frame.  “Nice shirt,” she says.

 

His lips twitch into a smirk that’s sexier than it ought to be.  “Thanks.”  He squats down and plucks the taser from her grip.  “You know these are illegal right?”

 

“What are you, a cop?” she snaps, snatching the taser back.

 

“Yup,” he replies, picking up the box of books and standing.

 

“Bullshit.”  His left eyebrow arches impressively and he reaches into his back pocket for his badge.  She leans in for a closer look and sees that it’s legit. “Fuck me,” she mutters.

 

He chuckles and tucks the badge back in his pocket.  “We only just met, sweetheart, but…”

 

“Bite me, pig!” she snaps, eyes widening over her mouth getting away from her as usual.  She snorts when her brain registers what she really said and giggles behind her hand.  “S’funny ‘cause you’re a cop.”  

 

The man rolls his eyes and shifts the box under his arm.  “Yuk it up, buttercup.  You want my help or not?”  

 

“You know what, it’s a shitty day.  You’re hired,”  Darcy smiles and offers him her hand.  “Darcy Lewis.”  

 

“Colin Shea,” he says with a nod, shaking her hand.  “Where’m I taking this?”  

 

“6C.”           

 

 

* * *

 

 

There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he stands outside 6C watching his cute new neighbor dig around in her bag for the keys.  He hasn’t been inside that place for a year at least.  Not since Ally put the final nail in the coffin of their relationship by telling him she’d met someone else.  And it’s not that he’s harboring all these lingering feelings for her, but walking into her old apartment is just going to stir up a bunch of ghosts he’d honestly rather stay dead and buried. 

 

Darcy’s hand shakes as she slips the key into the lock and she huffs out an exasperated breath.  “Somethin’ wrong with your key?” he asks.  She turns, eyes wide open and shiny with the threat of tears.  Well, fuck.  Tears are never good. 

 

“What if this place is a shithole?  I fell in love with pictures online, but what if it’s really some former crack den I’m renting from a Boston slumlord?”

 

He doesn’t mean to laugh, honestly, but she’s being a bit ridiculous and the worried look on her face is part pathetic and wholly adorable.  “It’s not a shithole,” he assures her.

 

“But—”

 

Colin rolls his eyes and reaches past her to turn the key.  “See for yourself,” he tells her and opens the door.      

 

Darcy walks inside and switches on the light.  “Oh my god!” she exclaims, looking around intently.  “It’s even better than the pictures!  When does that happen, ever?”  Setting down the box in her hands, she hurries down the stairs, turning towards the kitchen.  There’s a high-pitched squeal from the other room quickly followed by clapping and jumping up and down.  “I love it!”

 

He’s rooted to his spot on the stairs.  Not that there’s any need to look around; he knows what the place looks like.  Hell, he all but lived here for a while.  Darcy whizzes past him in a blur of dark-haired excitement for the bedroom and more delighted squeals soon follow.  Her excitement is cute and all that, but he’d really rather not spend the rest of his evening in his ex’s apartment if he can help it.  “Where d’you want this box?” he calls out.

 

“Shit!” she snaps, hurrying out of the bedroom, waving her hands apologetically.  “Sorry, sorry.  I got so excited about the place I forgot you were even here.”   

 

Her admission startles a derisive laugh out of him.  “Gee, thanks.”

 

“Sorry,” she giggles, taking the box from him.  “I appreciate the help.” 

 

Colin folds his arms across his chest and nods.  “Is that all you brought?” 

 

She shifts the box awkwardly and finally puts it down next to the other box.  “Of course not.  I’ve got a U-Haul downstairs.”

 

“Of course you do,” he says evenly.  “Well, let’s get to it then.  I don’t have all night.”

 

Darcy’s eyes narrow and she fists her hands on her hips.  “You don’t have to help.  It’s not like it’s your civic duty or anything.  I can handle it myself.”

 

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he chuckles.  “You carryin’ furniture up six flights of stairs?  This I gotta see.”  There’s still a stubborn set to her jaw, but he does see a bit of the wind go out of her sails.    

 

“I had a plan.  I was promised a working elevator when I put my deposit down.”  

 

“Hate it to break it to ya, 6 C, but you were lied to.  That damn thing is out of order more than half the time,”  he laughs again when her face falls and she glares back at him.  She’s way too young for him, but she’s pretty fucking cute—all sassy and indignant like she is.  “C’mon.  Let’s get you moved in.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It doesn’t take long to get her stuff brought upstairs.  She didn’t bring much with her and the only thing that posed even the slightest bit of a challenge was the brand new mattress and box spring that she splurged on before leaving Virginia.  It’s not that the mattress was heavy by any means, but it was big and awkward and both she and Colin kept swearing when the thing slipped out of her grasp on nearly every turn up the stairs.  At one point she started yelling “Pivot!” like Ross Geller and Colin laughed so hard he tripped and dropped his end, sending the mattress sliding halfway down the stairs.  They sat there laughing like idiots for five minutes until a tenant on the fourth floor opened up the door and hollered at them to “shut the fuck up already.”  

 

“Don’t mind that guy,” Colin says.  “He tried to marry his dog.”  Darcy laughs until she can’t breathe and the guy yells at them again.  

 

Maybe it should be weird, having this stranger in her space, helping her move her stuff, but the only thing she feels is gratitude.  Sparsely furnished or not, she doesn’t want to think about how she would have realistically managed moving in on her own.  

 

“That should do it,” Colin says as he walks into her bedroom with the last of the boxes.  He sets them on her dresser and the box on top topples over onto the floor.  “Shit!” he hisses as the contents scatter over the hardwood.  “M’sorry!”  

 

There’s no sound of glass shattering or anything else breaking, so Darcy just shrugs as she sets down her suitcase and cranes her neck to see which box fell.  She’s absolutely mortified when she sees items from her nightstand—namely her pink vibrator—rolling across the floor.  Darcy moves quickly to kick it out of his line of sight, but from the shit-eating grin on his face she knows her attempt was futile.  

 

“Too late.  Already saw it,” he says, eyebrow ticking up.

 

“Big fucking deal.  I masturbate, okay?” Darcy snaps, bending over to retrieve the vibrator from the floor.  “Thanks for the help.  You can go now.”

 

“It certainly is pink.”

 

Darcy’s face burns hotly and she tosses the vibrator into an open box.  “You know where the door is.”    

 

“And…sparkly,” he grins crookedly, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

 

“How much time would I have to serve for beating you to death with it?”  

 

“Ooh, kinky. I like you.”  

 

“Colin!” she hisses, stomping her foot on the floor.  

 

He throws his head back and laughs, clapping a hand over his chest.  “Okay, okay, I’ll go. I’m sure you’d like to unpack and _relax_ ,” he says, making air quotes with his fingers.  

 

“Alright, neighborly bonding time is over now,” Darcy says tartly, grabbing his arm and tugging him along through the apartment. He’s still laughing when they reach the door and she manages to not assault the policeman by kicking him in the shin.  

 

“I really do appreciate your help though,” she tells him, pulling open the door and smiling softly. “I don’t know how I would have managed by myself, so thanks.”  

 

“My pleasure, Sparkles.”  

 

Darcy rolls her eyes and huffs out a laugh in spite of herself.  “See ya ‘round, Barney Fife.”  

 

Colin’s face splits into a crooked grin, shaking his head as he backs out of her apartment.  “I reject that nickname.”  

 

“You do that,” she smiles and wags her fingers at him. “Thanks again!” she says, closing the door and flipping the deadbolt.  

 

She turns and leans back against the closed door.

 

The apartment feels far too empty now and the first thing Darcy does is fish her iPod out of her bag. The second is plugging her computer in to charge. “It’s you and me now, kid,” she says to her laptop, running her fingers over the top. She turns on her ‘Old Hot Rockers’ playlist and bounces around the apartment with excess energy, exploring the empty bathroom cabinets and the kitchen cupboards, dancing around in circles to the music playing in her ears.  

 

Maybe this whole being a grown up thing isn’t so bad.  

 

Upon closer inspection, Darcy sees that whatever cleaning service the landlord used did a half-assed job and the bathroom and kitchen still need work.  She finds a box with cleaning supplies and cranks up the volume, singing along while she cleans.  

 

Darcy cleans until the apartment sparkles and the battery is nearly flat on her iPod. She tugs the earbuds out and her ears ring in the sudden silence. In the bedroom, Darcy digs through a box to find the charger, and her fingers brush against her vibrator. A blush heats her cheeks and she tries not to think about her hot neighbor’s shit-eating grin from earlier.

 

Asshole.

 

She showers off the grime of moving day, thrilled to learn that while her building may not have a working elevator half the time, there’s no shortage of hot water or strong water pressure. Her phone buzzes on the counter as she’s stepping out of the shower. Wrapping a towel around her body, she sees another text from her mother and ignores it. Palming her phone, she pads back into her bedroom to find pajamas.  

 

Sitting down on the unmade bed, Darcy drags her laptop across the bed and switches it on. She roots through her purse and finds a cereal bar to nibble on, making a mental note to buy groceries tomorrow. The room is quiet but for the chiming of her laptop; it’s a little unnerving. Once her laptop boots up, she turns on some music and a message pops up.

 

_None of your trusted wireless networks can be found. Would you like to join the wireless network named "My Neighbors Suck”?_

  
"Yes, yes I would like that very much," Darcy mutters to herself, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. She pauses for a half second, thinking about who she’s about to steal WiFi from, but she shrugs and does it anyway. "Alright, Officer Shea, let's see what you’ve been up to."


	2. borrowing a hammer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy settles into her apartment and bakes brownies and attempts to borrow a hammer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Katy and I posted chapter one we had both expected this story to get a half dozen comments and kudos. Neither of us expected the response we received. There were a lot of texts sent back and forth every time either of us checked email or AO3. There was much giddiness. This story means a lot to me, to both of us. I want to say a huge thank you to everyone for the wonderful response to this crossover verse.
> 
> Special thanks must go to [Polexia_Aphrodite](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Polexia_Aphrodite/pseuds/Polexia_Aphrodite) for her awesome beta'ing services. 
> 
> \- Meri

The apartment doesn’t quite feel like home yet, despite the blur of the last few days spent unpacking everything she brought to Boston with her. Maybe when she finds a few more pieces of furniture to fill the living space, or maybe once she gets a few things up on the walls it might finally start feeling like it’s really hers. The bedroom is mostly done, at least, and she’s very nearly in love with it. Granted, she hasn’t found a bed frame or nightstands but the space is cozy and warm, lit with strands of white fairy lights.  Mason jars filled with pens and pencils, stacks of books, framed pictures, colorful throw pillows, and other tchotchkes accent the space.  The rest will get filled in with time, Craigslist, and trawling thrift stores.

 

Despite a crazy heat wave that rolled in the day after she moved, Darcy gets out and explores the city a bit.  Moving put a huge dent in her bank account, so she takes advantage of free offerings by taking an iPod tour of the Harbor Walk one afternoon. It’s hot and muggy out, making her tank top stick uncomfortably to her skin, but the walk is beautiful and she loves learning more about her new city at her own pace—even if she randomly snorts over the thick accents in her ear buds.  She’s sure that dialect will sound completely normal to her in no time, but she’s not signing up to drop the R’s from _her_ speech anytime soon.

 

On the way home, she stops at the corner market near her apartment and fills a basket with eggs, cocoa, sugar, butter, and flour. She’s mulling over dinner options when her phone starts chiming in her pocket.  Darcy smiles when she sees who’s calling and swipes her thumb across the screen. “Chicken pot pie, pizza, or mac and cheese?”

 

There’s a pregnant pause on the line. “Mac and cheese,” Jane says thoughtfully. “So...how’s Boston?”

 

“Did you get my email?”

 

“And the text messages, yes, but they didn’t say anything other than you’re still alive and drinking too many iced coffees. So I repeat, how’s Boston.”

 

Darcy hears the exasperation in her friend’s voice and can perfectly imagine the matching expression on her face.  

 

“I like it,” Darcy says as she wanders down the next small aisle in the store.  “Well, I like my apartment anyway. I’m hardly more than acquaintances with the city at large at this point.” She considers the various boxes of macaroni and cheese on the shelves in front of her. “Velveeta Shells and Cheese or Kraft Dinner?”

 

“Velveeta,” Jane huffs, and an amused grin curls over Darcy’s lips. “Have you met anyone?”

 

Colin’s face darts through her mind as she tosses the yellow box into her basket. “Just my neighbor— _The Cop_.”Darcy mentioned him briefly in her e-mail to Jane, but she had purposely excluded any particulars Jane could latch onto and grill her about. Like, how sexy he is and the wicked grin on his face when he saw her vibrator. Hell no. Best friend or not, Jane isn’t getting that information.

 

Shoving those thoughts from her head, she rounds the corner and grabs coffee filters. “Work starts in a few days,” Darcy continues, “I’ll meet more people then.” She also doesn’t tell Jane how worried she is about starting this new job and having to jump into adulthood; or that the city noise is a jarring change from her tiny apartment at Culver, and how the only way she can fall asleep is playing her iPod softly to cancel it out. “How’s the new intern doing?”

 

“Ian talks too much and his coffee is terrible but he does understand me when I talk...sometimes anyway.”

 

“Aw, you miss me,” Darcy trills.

 

“I miss your filing system,” Jane corrects and Darcy snorts out loud. A little old lady resplendent in tacky green eye shadow and blue-gray hair glares at Darcy as she pushes her cart past. Rude.

 

“Tell me you miss me.” Looking over the selection of cereals, Darcy tries not to dwell on the pang in her chest over missing her friend.

 

“I miss your lattes and creative expletives,” Jane says dryly.

 

Darcy drops a box of generic Froot Loops in her basket—because she’s an adult dammit—and wills herself not to do something pathetic like tear up in the middle of the grocery store.  “Close enough.”  

 

It’s nice talking to Jane and all, but it’s not long before the woman starts babbling about science and Darcy loses interest in favor of reading the back of a mass market paperback that promises to be a real bodice ripper.  She tosses that into her basket as well and sighs. “Jane. Jane. Jane. Dr. Foster.”

 

“What!” Jane snaps, surfacing from her science daze.

 

“M’gonna checkout now. Good luck with the new intern, okay?”

 

“Okay, Darcy. Take care of yourself. Let me know how your first day at work goes.”

 

“Will do. Miss your face, Janie-o,” Darcy says and ends the call.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

Darcy gets home, puts away her meager groceries, and then digs out her grandmother’s old cookbook. She hasn’t baked anything in ages; she’s dying to try out her new kitchen and the awesome turquoise oven that sold her on the apartment in the first place.

 

She decides to mix up a big batch of red velvet brownies for her neighbor as a thank you for helping her move in (and also the free WiFi she hacked into, but she’ll just keep that part to herself). There are a few things she needs hung up around the apartment as well and she’s lacking in the tools-to-hang-things-up-with department. So, apparently her brownies are a thank you _and_ a bribe. Once the brownies are in the oven, she sets the timer on her phone, grabs a beer from the fridge and heads for the shower.

 

After her shower, she makes the cream cheese frosting while the brownies finish cooling on top of the stove. The kitchen is a mess: dishes stacked in the sink and cocoa and icing sugar sprinkled across the counter. Deciding to deal with that later, Darcy frosts the brownies, and licks a bit of icing from her fingers. Satisfied with the taste, she plates them up for Colin and heads across the hall.        

 

Music she doesn’t recognize is playing when she lifts her fist to knock on the door to 6A and it stops the moment her knuckles meet wood. She hears a lazy footfall of steps approaching and the unbolting of locks. Colin pulls open the door and she’s gobsmacked at the sight of him shirtless. Dark hair covers his well-sculpted chest and abdomen and she’s pretty sure that his diet does not consist purely of donuts and coffee like all those cop shows led her to believe. He scratches his belly, drawing her gaze down to the pair of tan shorts slung low over his hips that have certainly seen better days.

 

Damn it all, he’s _seriously_ attractive.

 

Colin leans against the jamb and folds his impressive arms across his equally impressive chest, the movement making his muscles bunch. The word _Adonis_ springs to mind and Darcy tamps down the urge to drool. Just barely, and really only because he clears his throat in dramatic fashion. Her eyes dart back up to his face, feeling her cheeks burning with the embarrassment over having been caught openly checking him out.   

 

“My eyes are up here,” he smirks, absently gesturing to his face. “Did you need somethin’ or did you just come to ogle the goods?” She swallows thickly and his smirk kicks up to a smug grin.

 

Darcy blows out a calming breath and nods to the plate in her hand. “I made you _thank you_ brownies for helping me move. Pretty sure it’s the neighborly thing to do. Saw it on a sitcom once.” She holds out the decorative plate with the big pile of brownies slathered in icing. “They’re red velvet,” she adds.

 

Colin reaches for the plate, sharp blue eyes narrowing on hers. “What else do you want?”

 

“Nothing,” she lies, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at his skepticism. He’s right, of course, but that’s neither here nor there. “If you don’t want the brownies, I’ll take ‘em back.”

 

“Didn’t say that,” Colin says, pulling the plate out of her hands. His eyes flick down to the brownies and back up to her face, his eyebrow arching as he stares her down.

 

She curls her finger around the ends of her still-damp hair, inwardly cursing herself for the nervous gesture that probably comes across as a pathetic attempt at flirting. Groaning, she drops her hand to her side. “You don’t happen to have a hammer I can borrow, do you?”

 

“A hammer?”

 

“A hand tool you bash things with,” Darcy deadpans.

 

“I know what a hammer is, smartass. What d’you need it for.”

 

“To bash things with, _obviously_.” At his unimpressed look, she continues. “I want to hang some things up and I don’t have any tools.” He sighs and steps back into his apartment, motioning for Darcy to follow him. She does and her unfortunate habit of babbling while nervous rears its head. “Well, I mean I have tools, but a hammer is not something I’d normally use to fix my computer. Or the crappy electrics in the apartment.”

 

Colin frowns at her over his shoulder and sets the plate of brownies on the counter in his small kitchen. “Hey, I did those electrics and they’re—”

 

“Crappy,” Darcy repeats, glancing around his apartment. It’s smaller and darker than hers, but it’s fairly clean and feels lived in and oddly homey for a bachelor pad.  There’s a guitar lying across the small couch beside an open notebook, and one wall of shelves is full of CDs and records. Her curiosity about his interest in music is fully piqued and she wants to ask what he was playing when she knocked.

 

“Guess you can borrow someone else’s tools then,” he drawls. Grabbing a brownie off the plate, he leans back against the sink and eyes it cautiously.  

 

Darcy pastes on her most contrite smile and tucks her hands into the back pockets of her cutoff shorts. “Did I say crappy? I meant quirky. Who doesn’t love their bathroom light flickering on and off after turning on a lamp in their living room, am I right?” She clears her throat and promptly changes the subject. “Sweet record collection, man. And don’t be afraid of the brownies, Danno, they’re not poison.”

 

Colin snorts and shakes his head. “Again with the fictional cop nicknames? I think this cake is bleeding.”

 

“Lord, it’s not a crime scene, _officer_ , it’s _red_ velvet.”

 

With a lopsided grin, he bites off more than half of the large brownie and lets out a loud, appreciative moan as he chews. “Jesus, these are fuckin’ good,” he says with a mouthful, and tucks into the rest of it, making obscene noises with each bite.

 

Lack of manners aside, Darcy’s thrilled that he’s enjoying them. Her cooking skills may be elementary at best, but she knows damn well that she bake her ass off. “Thanks.” He picks up a second brownie and shoves another huge bite into his mouth, eyes closed in faux ecstasy as another vulgar moan spills from his lips. “Oh my god,” she grumbles. “Do you need some time alone?”

 

He opens his eyes and starts licking the frosting off his fingers, no doubt doing this to try and get a rise out of her. Well, joke’s on him—she’s met guys like him before and no matter how hot he is, she’s not taking the bait.

 

“Pretty sure I’ve never gotten a boner from food before, but those brownies could probably do the job.”

 

“You’re all charm, Shea.” Darcy rolls her eyes and scrunches up her nose in disgust. A slow, mischievous grin stretches over his face and dammit, it is charming as hell and twice as sexy. What an asshole. “You’ve got icing on your face,” she tells him flatly.

 

His tongue darts out to lick the smear of white frosting from the corner of his mouth. “Better?”

 

Darcy lifts a shoulder noncommittally and gives him an expectant look. “So, tools now, yes?”   

 

Colin chuckles and turns to wipe any remaining crumbs into the sink. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, gimme a minute.”  

 

She tells herself not to watch him walk away, but sometimes her impulses simply get the better of her. Besides, there’s really no harm in appreciating attractive people. It’s not like she’s being creepy about it or anything. His shoulder-to-waist ratio is not only attractive but ridiculously impressive. Sexy. Blowing out a breath, she turns away before she gets caught and focuses her attention on his wall of music.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s becoming a thing, Colin thinks as he slips his feet into battered navy Chucks, helping this girl out. He doesn’t mind. Darcy’s mouthy and cute and funny. And she baked him the best goddamn brownies he’s ever had—sorry, Ma—so it’s no skin off his ass to put a few nails in a wall for her. He pulls his ‘Free Licks’ t-shirt from a laundry basket and tugs it over his head. It’s faded and falling to pieces, with the collar parting from the body of the shirt, but he decides it’s finally about broken in.

 

Rummaging through the small utility closet, he finds his toolbox and digs out his paint-splattered hammer before deciding to just bring the whole thing with him along with his drill. Darcy said she just needed a hammer, but he doesn’t know what the hell he’s hanging up for her. He’d just as soon save a trip for extra tools. Closing the door, he turns and finds Darcy bent over his records, slim fingers brushing along the spines of the albums.  

 

“Hey, nosy ass! Hands offa my records.”

 

Darcy turns her head and he sees a corner of her mouth twitch before she goes back to doing what she was doing. “Just admiring your collection. Not enough people appreciate vinyl, you know? Or they’re hipster douchenozzles who claim that listening to digital is too mainstream. Barf.”

 

“Which camp are you lumping me in? If you say hipster, I swear to god.”

 

“Well,” she starts, standing upright and placing her hands on her hips, lips pursed in amusement, “I don’t see any Bon Iver or Death Cab For Cutie anywhere. You own Born to Run on vinyl—which is awesome, by the way, I’m jelly—and you’re a cop.” Humor lights up her blue eyes as she gives him a lopsided smile and juts her chin towards him. “I also don’t think you’re wearing that shirt ironically. You, pal, are clearly not a hipster.”

 

Colin snorts. “C’mon. It’s hammer time.”

 

Darcy’s face lights up, her mouth forming a perfect ‘o’, and she breaks into the running man while singing MC Hammer. “My, my, my music hits me so hard, makes me say ‘Oh my Lord.’ Thank you for blessin’ me with a mind to rhyme and two hype feet.”

 

Thrown for a complete loop, Colin doubles over at the waist, barking laughter coming out of his mouth. Darcy’s _hilarious_ and while her singing leaves something to be desired, her dancing is surprisingly good.

 

He’s also not oblivious to how stacked she is. Those curves were impossible to miss the night they met. But now, with the way her body’s moving and the stretch of her sleeveless Led Zeppelin shirt across her chest, it’s difficult not to stare. Thankfully her goofiness overshadows the glimpse of her lime green lace bra beneath faded cotton and the way her tits bounce.     

 

She stops after another verse and giggles. “That would’ve been a lot better if I was wearing those ridiculous Hammer pants.” Darcy shrugs. “But there you have it.”

 

“Jesus, Sparkles. That was the funniest shit I’ve seen all week.”

 

A bright smile curves over lush lips. “Sugar high.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They’re still laughing when Darcy leads the way across the hall into her apartment. Colin scans the space for changes and notices a measly few. The living space is still mostly empty:  a small woven rug sitting lonely in the middle of the floor, a large mirror hung on the back brick wall, and her laptop and desktop computers placed side by side on the small desk in the nook by the bedroom.   

 

Bouncing down the stairs he asks, “Where to, boss?”

 

“That wall.” Darcy points past his shoulder at the one partitioning off the kitchen from the front door. It’s one of the few non-brick walls in the apartment. On the floor is a sad looking cardboard box with a cartoonishly-shaped cat clock perching on top.

 

"The fuck is this?" Colin asks, picking up the thing up and turning it over. The tail swings and the eyes track slowly back and forth.  

  
  
"It's a clock; it tells the time. You know, as is its job to do. It’s kitschy and awesome," Darcy replies, pulling the clock out of his hands and hugging it fiercely.  

 

"It's the ugliest fuckin’ thing I've ever seen," he says dryly. He rolls the hammer between the palms of his hands, watching Darcy’s eyes narrow murderously at him.  
  


"You know, you can go at anytime,” she snaps, setting the clock down. “Just let me borrow the hammer." Darcy reaches for the tool in his hand. “I’m totally worthy.”  
  


"No," Colin says childishly, holding the hammer above his head well out of her reach.  
  


"Yo, Miami Vice, are you always this much of an asshole?"  
  


"Number one...knock it off with the nicknames. How many fictional cops do you know, anyway?”

 

“A lot.”

 

“Number two, you asked for my help. I'm here to help."

  
  
Darcy scoffs at him. "I didn't actually. I asked to borrow a hammer. You seem to think because I possess tits I'm not capable of nailing something."

  
Jesus. There are so many jokes he _could_ make, but chooses not to. "I don't fuckin' think that. M’just trying to be a good neighbor, but if you insist..." Colin shrugs and flips open the lid of his toolbox, rooting around for a nail. He flips the hammer in his hand and holds it and the nail out for her to take. “Let’s see what you got.”

 

Darcy mutters unintelligibly under her breath as she takes the hammer and nail from him. Colin smirks, crossing his arms over his chest and rocks back on the balls of his feet. With an indignant glare aimed his direction, she turns toward the wall and lines up the nail where she wants it.

 

On the first pass she misses the nail altogether. “Dammit,” she hisses, and he swears she says something about regretting not taking woodshop in school.

 

The second pass her swing is wild, and the claw comes far too close to his face for comfort before the blunt end puts a sizeable dent in the wall.

 

He plucks the hammer out of her hand, "Fuck woman! I'm takin' this back before I have to arrest you for assaulting a police officer with intent."

 

“Hey,” Darcy protests. “I was doing fine.”

 

“How about no. Really don’t wanna explain to my mom how I ended up in the ER with a hammer claw in my eye. ”

 

“Fine,” Darcy grits through her teeth, throwing up her hands up in the air. She steps back out of the way.

 

It takes less than a minute for Colin to  hammer the nail in the wall and hang the clock up on it. The thing flicks its plastic tail and eyes back and forth with malevolent glee. Jesus, that thing will haunt his dreams.

 

“Anything else you want done, Sparkles?” he asks with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

 

Darcy face darkens and she rolls her eyes. It’s easy to rile her up, he decides, and files that information away for another day. Colin cocks his head to the side. “Haven’t got all day for you to decide.” He twirls the hammer in his hands and wanders around her apartment.

 

He’s drawn to Darcy’s work station, but before he can get too close to investigate Darcy says, “The bedroom.”

 

“I dunno, Darcy. Shouldn’t there be a please in there?”

 

“I baked you brownies.”

 

“So,” he says, enjoying Darcy’s growl of frustration.

 

“Please, Officer Shea, will you help me out in the bedroom?” Darcy says flatly. A slow smile steals over his face, and Darcy realizes her mistake, quickly waving him off. “Ugh, that sounded like a line from a bad porno.”

 

“For the record, you said it not me,” he grins making his way into the bedroom. “I was only thinking it.”

 

“Just help me hang pictures, okay?” Darcy skirts around him to enter the bedroom first and he watches in amusement as she kicks a pile of clothes underneath a painted dresser. She closes one of the drawers but not before he gets a glimpse of pink and purple lace. It’s on the tip of his tongue ask where she keeps her sparkly pink vibrator.

 

The walls of the bedroom are no longer the yellow Ally had but grey with faint horizontal stripes. Darcy’s mattress is still on the floor though. It’s  covered with mismatched cushions in vibrant colors and a faded paisley quilt. Books are stacked haphazardly on either side of the bed, and strands of fairy lights are hung around the room.

 

A few framed pictures sit on the floor beside the dresser and he bends down to take a closer look.

 

“Sister?” he asks, pointing to the framed photograph of Darcy wearing an ugly brown hat with her arms around a slim brunette in a plaid shirt standing in the desert.

 

“Friend. Jane Foster, absentminded astrophysicist. I interned for her a couple of years ago,” she tells him, picking up the frame with a wistful smile.

 

“Astrophysicist, huh. Must be wicked smaht.”

 

Darcy’s nose scrunches up adorably and an amused smile twitches over her mouth. “Very much so.”

 

He follows Darcy around the room, dutifully putting up nails where she dictates and listening to her babble. The girl is expressive when she tells a story. Hands waving and eyes lighting up, she spins a tale of stargazing in the desert and the mad scramble when Dr. Foster nearly got her research funding yanked.

 

She’s in the middle of telling him another story when her eyes open wide and she snaps her fingers. “Oh wait. Shit, I forgot. I have something else for you.” Darcy whirls around and digs into  the clutter of CDs and wires on her dresser. “Found it the other day,” she says grinning in triumph, holding up a small strip of photobooth pictures. “She’s cute. Girlfriend?”

 

Colin tenses as he pulls the strip of photos from Darcy’s hand. Pictures of he and Ally taken over a year ago, back when they were happy together, wearing stupid smiles and crossed eyes. In the last frame, Ally’s face is turned in towards his neck and he’s wearing a dumbass grin. His gut twists at the image and the memory it provokes. He crumples the strip in the palm of his hand and tosses it into the small wastebasket beside the dresser.

 

“Ex-girlfriend?” Darcy asks, a guilty expression in her eyes. She cocks her head to the side and worries her bottom lip between her teeth.

 

“Yeah,” Colin says dismissively. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Especially not with a girl he barely knows who happens to live in the same apartment.

 

“Sorry,” she murmurs.

  
“Don’t sweat it. What’s next, sweetheart?”


	3. baby pools, beer, and banter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a bad day, Colin retreats to his rooftop hideout and gets more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi, lovely people. We continue to be flabbergasted over the wonderful response to this story. Thanks so much for taking a chance on this crack!ship and letting us know your thoughts about this 'verse. Lots more to come with this story. Also, thanks for being patient between updates. Writing is hard.
> 
> Many thanks to the lovely and talented Polexia_Aphrodite for beta'ing this for us. She's great!

Colin’s day had been fucked from beginning to end—and not in the awesome sort of way that resulted in nakedness and orgasms. All he wants to do now that he’s home is escape to the roof and maybe work on the song that has been stuck in his head for the past couple of days. Finding the roof door open and the sign he’d taped to it crumpled in a ball on the floor only pisses him off more. He pushes open the door, ready to have words with whichever one of his dipshit neighbors is out there invading what he considers his space.

 

His mood improves marginally when he sees the one neighbor he doesn’t hate lounging in a little blue baby pool decorated with tiny, colorful, sunglasses-wearing fish. Darcy’s bobbing her foot over the side in time with the Billy Joel song blaring through small iPod speakers and holding a bottle of beer loosely between her fingers. She lifts the bottle to her lips and Colin gets a good, long look at the black bikini top she’s wearing.

 

There are far worse ways to end the day.

 

“No admittance to the roof area,” he calls over the music, the corner of his mouth kicking up when she startles and turns her head to smirk at him.   

 

“Figured that was your handiwork,” Darcy says dryly with an absent flick of her wrist, “and promptly ignored it.” Laughing, she pulls herself upright and draws her legs into the pool, capturing his full attention with all the pale skin on display in front of him. Hey, just because he isn’t going to go down that path with his neighbor (again) doesn’t mean he’s suddenly blind, or immune to admiring hot girls.

 

Plans to play guitar interrupted, he flops down on the battered old futon, setting his guitar and notebook beside him. Darcy leans across the pool to turn down the volume on her iPod and he cashes in on the opportunity to rake his eyes over her wet body without getting caught. She has curves for days, and there’s a small tattoo on the back of her shoulder, pinked by the sun, that piques his interest. Next to a little constellation of freckles, a pair of beamed eighth notes marks her skin. It’s simple, and the musician in him finds it pretty damn sexy. He ignores the itch to rub his fingers over it, to say something flirty and borderline inappropriate, and instead tucks the image away in his mind, letting his eyes inconspicuously roam her body again.

 

Her bikini is tame by comparison to what he’s used to seeing on women these days, but he likes it a lot. From the modest cut of her swimsuit stretched over throwback curves to the cat eye sunglasses, there’s something vintage about her whole look. Vintage or not, her tits are fucking amazing and really kinda distracting, if he’s being honest.

 

“What’s with the pool?” he asks, shutting down the dirty thoughts threatening to creep into the back of his mind.  

 

She shrugs and flips open the lid of a styrofoam cooler. “It’s hot as balls out. Beer?”

 

“You old enough to be drinking that?” Colin asks, nodding to the bottle in her hand.

 

"Please,” she snorts, pulling her sunglasses down her nose and pinning him with her gaze, blue eyes lit with mirth. “Like you didn't do a background check five minutes after you met me."

 

The accuracy of her statement sends a spike of something up his spine, but he doesn’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed. "Just gimme the fuckin' bee-ah."

 

"Did you know your accent gets really _Boston_ when you're annoyed?" Darcy grins and passes the bottle over. He ignores her, twisting off the cap and taking a long drink. It’s cheap, shitty beer he hasn’t bothered with since college, but it’s cold and hits the spot, so he’s not gonna complain.

 

“Seriously,” she continues, “this would-be friendship is doomed. You Bostonians dropping your Rs all willy-nilly like you do.  I’ll talk about khakis or something and you’ll be all, ‘But Darcy, you don’t even own a car’ and I’ll be all, ‘Dude, I was talking about Gap pants.’” Darcy heaves a dramatic sigh. “Too bad, really, since you’re the only person I know in town and you’re all handy with a hammer and stuff.”

 

He snorts and takes a long pull off his beer. “Speech is very affected in this would-be friendship.”  Darcy laughs and he finds the big, full sound impossibly cute.

 

“Right? So, anyway, _officer_ ,” she says, amusement lilting in her voice, “what info did you dig up about me?”

 

Colin smirks over the top of his beer and leans into the seatback. He didn’t look very deep, not yet anyway. He ran her name through the system after curiously looking at her Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram accounts. Nothing he found was too incriminating aside from a predilection for cat gifs, shitty sports teams, and squished-faced dogs.

 

“Well, off the top of my head:  Darcy Eleanor Lewis, age twenty-two, born and raised in Seattle; high school salutatorian and recent graduate of Culver University—very nice by the way—with a computer science degree; no arrest record and a shiny new job offer from the Adams Group.”

 

Lips twitching, she scrapes a thumbnail along the label on her beer. "Oh, just off the top of your head, huh? And how do you know that isn't all bullshit?"

 

His eyebrow arches. "Is it?"

 

"Nope,” she says, smoothing a rogue tendril from her messy ponytail behind her ear, “it’s all true.”  She pushes her sunglasses up on top of her head. “Wanna know what I found on you?"

 

Colin grins sharply. "Probably not, 'cause if you admit to using illegal means I'll have to take you in.” Admittedly, a pretty big part of him is curious if she tried and what she may have found. Not that he has anything to be ashamed of in particular. Well, maybe a few things, he muses.

 

Her answering smile is completely mischievous and he likes that more than he probably should. “Suit yourself.” She pulls her sunglasses down and reclines back in the pool again, draping her legs over the side, sipping her beer and trailing her free hand through the water. Her tongue flicks out over her naked pink lips and his thoughts delve into pretty dangerous territory.

 

Fuck.

 

It’s been too damn long since he’s gotten laid and he needs to do something about that soon.  And not with his neighbor.

 

“So, Sparkles…”

 

Darcy tips back her head and laughs. "God, not again! That makes me sound like a stripper, you know? 'Let's give a big Red Garter round of applause for Sparkles!’"

 

"You got the tits for it," Colin says candidly, letting his eyes dip down to her cleavage and back up to her face.

 

"Stay classy, bro.”  

 

"What would your song be?" he asks, pulling his guitar into his lap and strumming his fingers over the strings.

 

“Excuse me?"

 

"Your stripper song. 80’s rock, a slow jam?"

 

Darcy gives a derisive snort and flicks water at him. “I’m not stripping for you, asshole.”

 

"You'll never get tips that way," he says, grin turning up to shit-eating as he starts playing the first few chords of “Cherry Pie”.

 

Darcy scrunches her face up, shaking her head. “Dude, no.” He sings a few bars and her face cracks into a reluctant grin, giving her away, and her shoulders shake with silent laughter.

 

The alarm on Darcy’s phone trills as he plays a few more chords and he watches unabashedly as she stands up. Beads of water trail over the soft curves of her hips, down smooth pale legs, and he absolutely does not think about following those trails with his tongue or how that creamy skin would taste. Much, anyway.

 

“You’re sitting on my towel,” she says, curling her hand on her cocked hip.

 

Colin feigns ignorance and looks down in surprise at the battered sofa. “So I am.”

 

“Just gimme it.”

 

“Answer a question first and I might.”

 

Darcy lets out an exasperated huff and folds her arms underneath her chest. The movement pushes her tits up higher, swelling over the cups of her bikini. He’s pretty sure his IQ just dropped a few points and that Darcy’s tits are Grade A 100% real.

 

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” she says, voice dripping with annoyance. Annoying Darcy just might be his new favorite pastime, he thinks.

 

“You said “charming” wrong.” Colin winks, purposely ignoring her eye roll. “Any more ink?” he asks, fingers idly plucking the guitar strings. Darcy lifts her foot up and plants it on his knee, cool water dripping off her skin onto his shorts. Her lips curve into a challenging smirk and his eyes slowly travel down her body. _‘and you know you’re going to fall’_ is tattooed in a small printed font curving along the side of her foot. Not to be outdone, this time he gives in to the urge to brush his fingers over the words on her skin, eyes flicking up to her face with a matching smirk on his lips. “Nice.” Goosebumps prickle her leg and he smiles when she hurriedly pulls her foot away.

 

“Mhmm. Towel now,” Darcy demands, holding out her hand, palm up.

 

Colin rolls his eyes and shifts to the side, pulling the towel out from under his ass. He holds it just out of her reach. “Any others hiding under your suit?”

 

“Just the arrow pointing to my vagina,” she retorts.

 

He knows it’s a joke, but his eyebrow arches with interest, eyes dropping down to her bikini bottoms. “Pics or it didn’t happen.” It’s not much of a surprise when she kicks his shin and yanks the towel from his grasp. “Ow! Damn.”

 

“Idiot.”

 

The words from the tattoo on her foot tumble around in his head but he can’t quite place them. “And you know you’re going to fall?” he finally asks, strumming a few more chords.

 

“You’re a cop, you figure it out,” Darcy says tartly as she wraps the towel around her body.

 

“You know I will.”

 

“Well, bully for you, Shea.” She drops down on the couch beside him in the small strip of shade offered by the edge of the building and presses her fingers gingerly against the skin on her right shoulder, frowning at the sunburn. “Ugh.”  

 

Colin angles his head and notices that her shoulders are bright pink and edging towards red. “Aw, sunburns make Darcy cwanky,” he teases, nudging her thigh and chuckling when she flips him the finger without bothering to look up from her phone.

 

They both go quiet for a bit, listening to the music floating out of Darcy’s little iPod speaker dock that drowns out most of the city noise on the streets below. Her music choice isn’t half bad either. The playlist is eclectic and somehow works despite mixing 90’s alternative and 80’s rap, old country and classic rock.

 

He finds himself playing along to a cover of “All Along the Watchtower” and Darcy hums along for a few bars, bare toes tapping on the ground in time with the tune. She stills and swings her head to look at him, a considering smile twisting her mouth. “Wow, you can really play,” she says, surprise evident in her voice.

 

“Why d’you think I dragged a guitar up here for?”

 

“I dunno,” she shrugs. “You could just be another douche who bought a guitar to look cool.”

 

“Thanks for that,” Colin says in a gruff voice. “You sure know how to make a guy feel good.”

 

Darcy smirks back at him. “It’s a gift.” She reaches over and switches off the music. The sudden lack of noise is jarring and even though he was seeking solitude earlier, he’s a little disappointed that she’s about to pack it up and go inside. To his surprise, she shifts around to face him, tucking her legs underneath her on the couch. Her face relaxes and her lips curve up as she says, “Play me something else.”

 

Colin rolls his eyes but the corner of his mouth quirks up in amusement. “You’re bossy, you know that?”

 

“I do, and you’re stalling. Go on then, Shea, impress me with your musical genius.”

 

“Whaddya wanna hear?”

 

She leans in, just close enough for him to catch the scent of Coppertone and warm sun on her skin, and whispers, “Surprise me,” before leaning back on her side of the futon.

 

Colin thinks about it for a few seconds and tightens the strings on his guitar. “Alright, let’s see if you like this one.” He strums out the opening notes of Seger’s “Night Moves” and glances in her direction as he sings the first line. The answering smile that spreads across her face is nothing short of dazzling. She pulls off her sunglasses and cradles them in her lap, blue eyes focused on his hands as he plays, lips mouthing along with the lyrics.

 

Darcy’s reaction when the song is over is enthusiastic, to say the least. She puts both pinkies in her mouth and blows a long wolf whistle then claps her hands together. It’s a little over the top, but he’s almost certain that it’s completely genuine. Something about it warms that place in his gut the way it did whenever he played in front of people.

 

“And he sings, too. Damn, Colin, that was— _really great_! Excellent song choice.”

 

“If you don’t like Seger, you’re wrong.”

 

“Amen,” she laughs. “Why are you a cop when you should be on stage somewhere?”

 

It’s an innocent question, he knows, though it’s surprising how much it still smarts. There’s no way Darcy could have known where to aim and fire to hit the mark so accurately. Even if she had, she doesn’t strike him as the type to be cruel on purpose. He loves being a cop and he doesn’t regret becoming one— _but_ —there will probably always be a part of him that wonders what if over his music.  However, just like the other day when she handed him pictures of his past, he’s not gonna discuss it.

 

Colin pastes on a wicked grin and turns leering eyes her way. “Why? You wanna throw your panties at me? Black lace would be nice, maybe red.”

 

“Keep dreaming, pal,” Darcy snorts. “Seger’s great, but he’s no Springsteen.”

 

“Is that the secret?” he asks, fingers plucking out another tune. “Is your Achilles’ Heel hot guys with guitars playing The Boss for you?”

 

“Okay, first, full of yourself much? And second, oh my god, how did you know?” Darcy asks in a honeyed voice and slaps her palms down on her towel-covered thighs. “I mean, it’s just amazing I’ve never been arrested for public indecency, you know? What with the way my clothes just _fall off_ anytime I’m at a bar and some cover band plays Bruce Springsteen. Honestly, I can’t get on my back fast enough.”

 

“Okay, smartass, you made your point. You’re immune.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“The lyrical poetry and musical stylings of Springsteen have no effect whatsoever on your panties.”

 

Darcy frowns, eyes narrowing in a skeptical glare. “Why do I get the feeling you’re about to be a huge dick?”

 

“You tell me,” Colin laughs and looks at her with an arched brow. “ _Screen door slams, Mary’s dress waves. Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays_.”

 

“I hate you,” she hisses, eyes flashing with annoyance, lips puckering into an epic pout.  

  
“Noted,” he says, huffing out a laugh, and continues singing.    


	4. Darcy Does Adulting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy gets a pep talk and deals with the realities of being an adult: working for the man, jerkface co-workers, and trying to make friends post-college.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have several people to thank for their invaluable help on this chapter. Aenariasbookshelf for the feedback and encouragement, Polexia_Aphrodite for being head cheerleader, wonderful beta, and an all-around awesome lady, and jadecharmer, who is a total bag of dicks, but helped whip this chapter into shape and enabled us to finally finish the thing. Thanks for tolerating us, ladies! 
> 
> Also, for those that like to listen to music while reading, we made a little fanmix. The Tumblr link with the track listing is here: http://typhoidmeri.tumblr.com/post/88297273973/and-you-know-youre-going-to-fall-by-katertots

 

Slamming her hand down on the snooze button, Darcy opens one baleful eye to read the glowing blue numbers on display. She nearly throws the damn thing across the room when she sees that it’s 6:30.

 

“Rude,” she groans, flopping gracelessly on her back and tugging the covers up to her chin. No matter how you slice it, Monday mornings have always sucked a fat one. And, like millions and millions of other people, Darcy was never going to be a fan. Especially not at the ungodly hour of six-fucking-thirty.

 

As if Mondays weren’t already awful enough on their own merit, this particular Monday morning came with its own special brand of hell:  it was the first day of her big girl job. Also known as the first day of working for the man, or the first day of her life as an adult. There’s a big part of her, a part that is admittedly scared and slightly terrified at starting a new life, that  wishes she’d chosen to stay at Culver and go to grad school instead. That she would have stayed with the safety of the known than the unnerving unknown where it’s all too easy to fall flat on her face.   

 

The alarm sounds again and, with a certain amount of resignation settled deep into her bones, Darcy drags her sorry ass out of bed. A yawn, deep and full of longing regret, escapes while she make the attempt to rub the last of the sleep out of her eyes. Her t-shirt and underwear is stripped off in between stumbling steps to the bathroom and half-heartedly tossed somewhere in the general vicinity of the hamper.

 

Since she’s impatient, the shower is only finally warm by the time she’s rinsing out the conditioner. Darcy stays in long enough to erase the chill still lingering from the initial icy sharp needles of water. If she didn’t desperately need to grab coffee on the way to the T and still make it in time for work, she’d stay even longer.

 

It’s only day one and already Darcy finds this whole being an adult business completely overrated.

 

After drying her hair, she loosely braids a couple sections and pins it all back into casual chignon at the nape of her neck, leaving a few wavy tendrils to frame her face. She takes meticulous care with her makeup, wavering over several tubes of lipstick before choosing one that falls somewhere between fire engine and blood-of-thy-enemies. Red lipstick always makes her feel like she can kick ass and take names, and even if she’ll be faking it today, she needs that extra confidence boost. Satisfied with her hair and makeup, Darcy heads for her closet. The outfit she picked out last night seems all wrong now. She rifles through her meager new work clothes, pulling a charcoal grey skirt and deep purple blouse off the hangers to get dressed.

 

Upon careful inspection of her appearance in the mirror, she looks the part of a confident young professional. Feeling the part, however, is a different story. Inside, Darcy’s a ball of nerves, and she wonders if it’s too late to call Jane and go back to being her intern. There’s comfort in the familiar; she can spend the rest of her life deciphering chicken scratch and pouring coffee down  Jane’s throat, all while wearing jeans.  

 

That option gets approximately ten seconds of serious consideration before she mentally smacks herself and remembers that she’s made of tougher stuff than that. She’s not tucking tail and running back to Culver. She’s also not Peter Pan, so she can’t avoid the inevitable. So what if she doesn’t know much about being an adult? She knows computers and that’s what she was hired to do. She also knows, in those moments when she’s honest with herself, she was already being driven half to boredom in Jane’s lab from lack of challenge. It’s why she started looking for other jobs as graduation approached; it’s why she applied to this one when it caught her eye. Darcy could do the job of scientist watching with one hand tied behind her back and it wasn’t enough anymore. She keeps that thought firmly in mind; Jane’s lab, while a safety blanket, is her past. This is about her future. The rest?  It’ll all work itself out eventually.

 

Hopefully.       

 

Grabbing her bag and a grey-and-black-striped cardigan, just in case the office is cold, she slips on low black heels and makes her way through the front door. Her key gets stuck in the lock. Again. A frustrated growl rumbles low in her throat as she wrestles with the key, irritation mounting when the little metal bane of her existence refuses to budge.

 

"Come on, you motherfucker!” Darcy snarls, jerking the knob again with more force than necessary but she can’t be bothered to care. She doesn’t have the time or the patience for this bullshit today.

 

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” comes Colin’s deep voice behind her.

 

Darcy sighs. Of course. Of course he’s here to see this when she’s pretty much the picture of incompetence. Even worse, he’s probably standing there, watching her the entire time with a sexy smirk on his face to boot. Shoulders sagging, she presses her forehead against the cool wood of the door. The pressure feels good as she takes a deep, centering breath to regain her composure.

 

“Hi, Colin,” she mutters into the wood of the door.

 

“Need some help?” Darcy can practically hear the amusement dancing in his tone, undoubtedly coupled with those expressive eyebrows giving that little wiggle she’s already familiar with only having lived next to the man ten days. She reminds herself the question is well-intentioned. Probably.

 

“I’m fine,” she insists, jiggling the key in the lock until, unexpectedly, it actually pulls free. The set of keys slips from her fingers to clatter on the floor, and she lets loose another string of profanities. Colin snickers, which is just fantastic, it’s another thing added to the long list of things Darcy doesn’t have the time or energy to deal with this morning. She straightens up from her crouch, intent on telling him where he can stick it.

 

“You—” she starts, spinning around on her sensible heel.

 

That’s as far as she gets before the words die in her throat.

 

Colin’s wearing...not much at all, truth be told, just a towel slung dangerously low around his hips and nothing else. Well, unless the beads of water clinging to his arms and the dark swirls of hair over his chest and ridiculously toned abs count. They don’t. Damp hair falls across his forehead and there’s a little smear of leftover shaving cream just under his left sideburn. It’s the first time she’s seen him clean shaven and just—fuck it all, man. He’s so sexy it’s stupid.

 

Bastard.   

 

“Rockin’ the sexy librarian look I see,” Colin says, eyes raking over her appreciatively. He taps a rolled newspaper into his cupped palm, and the movement draws her attention to the flex of his arms. It’s not even the first time she’s seen him sans shirt, but it takes great effort for Darcy to drag her eyes back up to his face. His stupid smirky face, looking back at her all smug and stuff for having caught her ogling. Again. This really needs to stop before it turns into a problem.

 

Darcy wills away the blush creeping into her cheeks, and she touches the frames of her glasses self-consciously. She doesn’t need to wear them all the time, but leaving them on makes her look a little more studious and professional despite feeling as far away as possible from it. The gesture gives her a moment to think and search for actual words to speak instead of the stream of hubba hubbas running through her head.

 

She opens her mouth and, “I—um, yeah. Okay. Thanks?” comes out. Way to not sound like a fucking moron, Darcy. If she were an internet meme, this entire scene would have hashtag nailed it all over it. There was no awkwardness between them the other day on the roof, so she’s going to chalk this embarrassment up to first day jitters getting the best of her.      

 

“First day?” Colin asks, left eyebrow arcing up.

 

Darcy blows out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “That obvious, huh?”

 

Amusement flicks across his face and he holds his thumb and forefinger close together. “Just a tad.”

 

For a moment she considers telling him her fears, word vomiting all over him—newspaper, towel, and all. She catches herself reaching up to twist a strand of her hair and balls her hand at her side. “Can you do one thing for me?”

 

“Dunno,” he shrugs and she has to put forth a valiant effort to not look at the way that gesture makes his abs move and stretch in a certain way. “Depends what it is.”

 

“Give me a pep talk,” she requests before she can think better of it, the words rushing out of her mouth. “Tell me everything will be fine, that I won’t be fired on day one and have to go crawling back to a cramped lab and spend my days writing passive-aggressive posts on Facebook while processing data and brewing endless pots of coffee for Jane. Blow smoke up my ass if you have to.”

 

Colin chuffs out a laugh. “I could, but you’ll be better off hearing the truth.”

 

Darcy’s face falls and the nerves give a sick twist in her belly. “Which is?”

 

He steps closer and tips his head down so they’re eye-level, like he holds the secret and doesn’t want to share it with anyone else but her. From here she can smell the clean scent of Irish Spring and a hint of something else that’s spicy. His eyes are clear and sharp on hers, and she blinks in anticipation, waiting for him to impart his words of wisdom on her.

 

“Life is a rat race and being an adult sucks sometimes,” he tells her flatly.

 

Darcy snorts, and Colin stands to his full height, resting his hands on his hips.

 

“No shit, Sherlock.” She laughs and hitches her bag higher on her shoulder, surprised to find that she actually does feel a bit better now. “Worst pep talk ever.”

 

“Was not,” he grins.

 

“Keep hope alive. At least you’ve got, you know...” she trails off, waving her hand in the vicinity of his naked torso, “...all this going for you.” Oh god, she thinks, why did you say that? “Not that your ego needs stroking,” she adds quickly. Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up, Darcy. She presses her lips together and demands her brain to stop dragging her down this horrible-no-good-very-bad path.

 

A smirk tips up the corner of his mouth. “The jokes here write themselves, Sparkles.”

 

Darcy groans and rolls her eyes. “God, don’t start with that again. Anyway, I gotta run.” She gives him a tight smile and he takes a step back to his side of the hall. “Thanks, I guess. I do feel better now.”

 

“No sweat,” he grins, leaning against his doorway.

 

She starts down the stairs and Colin calls out, “Was it the pep talk or the eye candy that did it for ya?”

 

Incorrigible bastard, that guy. “Goodbye, Colin!” Darcy snorts, waggling her fingers over her shoulder.

 

“Hey, Darcy!” he shouts again when she’s made it down the first flight of stairs.

 

Darcy slaps her palm against the handrail and whirls around. “What?” she calls back up, leaning over the rail to look up the staircase with narrowed eyes, frustration warring with amusement, which seems to be a common theme with Colin.

 

Colin peers at her over the railing. She’s not sure whether she’s grateful or disappointed that he’s far enough back to keep her from seeing up his towel through the iron rails.

 

“You’ll be fine,” he informs her, warm and frank, like it’s a fact. “You won’t have to go back to making coffee and entering data and whatever the fuck else was in there.”  The smile on his face now is kind and sincere, lacking any trace of the usual rakishness.  

 

Even if he is lying to her, she appreciates the effort. She smiles up at him and adjusts her glasses again. “Thank you.”

 

“Tell you what,” he tells with a small chin jut, “You survive the first week and I’ll buy you a beer.”

 

“Make it a case and you’ve got yourself a deal,” Darcy counters with a grin.

 

Colin chuckles and points his newspaper at her. “You drive a hard bargain, D.”     

 

 

* * *

 

 

Her first day isn’t exactly what she thought it would be, which turns out to be both good and bad. The Red Line is standing room only (bad), but there’s a Starbucks across the street from work (very good) and she indulges in a venti salted caramel mocha to kickstart the day. It’s not a habit her wallet can routinely support, but it’s a nice treat to have this morning.

 

The entire morning is blocked out for new employee orientation, which is exactly as exciting as it sounds (read: not at all). Darcy snags a seat with at least two empty chairs on both sides, giving her a nice buffer zone and an excuse to not make awkward chit chat while waiting.

 

Unfortunately, a young woman in a killer red suit walks in with barely a minute to spare and grabs the seat two down from Darcy. A quick look around confirms that there is still a ridiculous amount of empty chairs in the auditorium. The perceived inconsideration only adds to Darcy’s frustration. She fills the empty seat between them with her Chanel bag that Darcy knows costs more than three months’ rent in her building and a gorgeous leather briefcase. Her sunny blonde hair is perfectly curled around her shoulders, makeup expertly applied to accent her already striking features, and there’s no denying the expensive suit or the Jimmy Choos on her feet. Darcy spares a glance down at her bargain basement skirt before returning her focus to the game of Farm Heroes Saga. Before she can finish, the man leading the orientation switches on his microphone and welcomes everyone to The Adams Group.    

 

There’s far more paperwork than Darcy expected (makes sense given the size of the company, but still), and boredom (dear god, the boredom).  Everyone in the room is educated on “thrilling” topics such as:  ghost employment (it’s illegal and you’ll get fired), substance abuse policy (drugs are bad, mmkay?), how to take vacation and sick days (useful), don’t stand on a chair to reach something (OSHA frowns on that sort of thing), and what to do in the event of a fire (GTFO), tornado (hide), or active shooter (GTFO, hide, or fight).

 

Much like every class she’s ever taken in her life, Darcy finds there is that one person in the room everyone hates. And usually for good reason. Today’s main offender is a middle-aged woman dressed head-to-toe in Pepto Bismol pink, with a matching hat, which is something Darcy couldn’t have made up if she tried. Of course, the woman is the sort who raises her hand to chime in after every single topic.

 

Her annoyance towards Designer Barbie is long forgotten as it’s taking every ounce of restraint Darcy has inside not to yell, ‘Shut up, you dumb twat!’ to Pinkie down front when she opens her mouth again to give her two cents about her old company. Even the trainer looks like he’s fresh the fuck out of patience and wants to strangle her.

 

It’s right as Darcy is contemplating the benefits of escaping for an emergency bathroom break when Designer Barbie leans over and taps her on the shoulder.

 

“Do you think we should call the zoo and inform them a deranged flamingo has escaped?” she whispers conspiratorially when Darcy turns to her. “Maybe we’d get a reward for returning her.”

 

The best joke ever it is not, but it’s certainly unexpected and Darcy is far more entertained than she probably has any right to be. Snorting out a laugh, she and Designer Barbie form a bond that only two strangers with a mutual hatred of another complete stranger can.

 

“I don’t know,” Darcy starts, grabbing onto the proffered olive branch, “maybe pink is her signature color,” she finishes with a southern accent and a flick of her wrist.  

 

The other woman grins, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “My colors are blush and bashful, Mama. I have chosen two shades of pink, one is much deeper than the other.”

 

“If you don’t have anything nice to say about anybody, come sit by me,” Darcy continues with her favorite quote from Steel Magnolias.  “Darcy Lewis,” she whispers, holding her hand out.  

 

“Sydney Barish,” she smiles, shaking Darcy’s hand firmly. “How fast do you think I’d land in Human Resources for telling her to shut the fuck up already? Seriously, I’ve spent the better part of the last hour imagining how satisfying it would be to run a cheese grater down the side of her face.”

 

Darcy barks out a laugh, doing a piss-poor job of masking it with a cough, but the only one in the room who seems to mind is the woman they’re laughing at anyway, so she doesn’t sweat it. Mercifully, the trainer cuts Pinkie off when she opens her mouth to chime in with another anecdote, and there is an audible collective sigh of relief from everyone else in the room. It only takes a few more minutes to wrap up. The trainer pointedly thanks everyone for their patience before welcoming them once more to The Adams Group.

 

“Let’s go to lunch,” Sydney cheerfully suggests  behind her as they file out of the auditorium. “I’ve heard the cafeteria here is actually decent.”  

 

Darcy shrugs one shoulder, lips pulling back into an easy smile. “Okay, yeah. Beats the apple I barely remembered to throw in my bag this morning.”  

 

* * *

 

Lunch is great; she and Sydney spend a good deal of it talking and laughing and getting to know each other a bit. Even though they don’t work in the same department, it’s sort of nice having someone in the building that’s a friendly face.  It helps ease the little ball of anxiety that’s been rolling around in the pit of her stomach since she moved to Boston; the one that had her worried she wouldn’t make any new friends. They make plans to grab lunch again later in the week. Darcy isn’t going to hold her breath,  but things are definitely starting to look brighter.

 

At a quarter til one, Darcy wishes Sydney luck on the rest of her first day and straightens her shoulders in preparation for facing her own. She shuffles through a few songs on her phone as she makes her way to the bank of elevators, heels clicking on the tiled lobby floor in her haste.

 

“Hold the elevator, please,” Darcy calls as the doors start to close. A man with dark, slicked-back hair slaps his hand out to catch the door and Darcy offers up a beaming smile as she steps inside. “Hey, thanks.”

 

“No problem,” he answers. “Which floor?”

 

“Oh, um,” Darcy starts, blanking momentarily on where her new department is located, “...ten. I think.”

 

“Me too,” he says, turning to face her. His smile is supposed to appear easy-going, she thinks, but instead it comes off as ten different kinds of fake. His beady, blue eyes rake over her and he holds out his hand in a smooth, clearly practiced, gesture. “Brandon Whitmore.”

 

“Darcy Lewis,” she says, shoving her phone and earbuds awkwardly in her pocket. Brandon’s hand is smooth and dry, the grip firm, but he holds on a second too long and her skin crawls. He smells like he bathed in a vat of Axe bodyspray; it’s revolting and Darcy focuses on breathing through her mouth.

 

“Are you Henderson’s new admin?” he asks, finally pulling his hand away from hers.  

 

She fights the urge to wipe away whatever cooties he has on her skirt. “No, I’m in digital security.”

 

“Oh,” Brandon says sourly, fixing her with a narrowed look that leaves her hackles raised. “The only open position was Account Analyst II.”

 

Darcy barely manages to keep her lips from pinching in annoyance, but only just barely. How goddamn long does it take to go ten floors, she wonders. She manages to keep her tone just this side of snarky when she replies. “Yeah, that’d be me.”

 

“I see.” Brandon’s face hardens, mouth thinning into a tight line, and he turns away from her, staring at the elevator doors.  

 

Nice meeting you, too, asshole, Darcy thinks. Misogynistic prick might be more apt, but before she can ponder his moniker some more, the merciful ding of the elevator reaching its destination sounds and the doors quietly hiss open. Brandon hightails it out of there without so much as a fuck you, but the hairy eyeball he shoot her when he looks back pretty much implies it.   

 

She sighs and steps off the elevator.

 

Being an adult is stupid.

 

* * *

 

The rest of her first day passes by with relative ease after the soul-sucking ‘welcome to the family’ meeting. Darcy meets a few other faces in her department, including Adrienne, who is nice enough to not only show Darcy where her desk is, but also where the all-important coffee machine is located. As the week progresses, Darcy comes to realize that Adrienne is also the one who manages to keep the wheels running behind the scenes, in addition to knowing where the emergency chocolate stash is located. Clearly, a person Darcy needs to keep on her side.

 

When Friday finally rolls around, Darcy is elbow-deep in the work that has already gleefully piled up on her desk. She’s just about to knock off the last of a few last minute emails that are labeled with the little emergency flag, most of them from Brandon. Clearly, the dick from the elevator doesn’t understand the actual meaning of ‘emergency’ and, instead, chooses to be purposely aggravating. He’s also the sort of dick who puts a read receipt on all his emails, which is beyond obnoxious.

 

Darcy is contemplating just how passive aggressive to make her tone in the email, first week and all, when she’s interrupted. “We have a lunch date and I for one am famished.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, just give me a minute to finish this before the world falls apart,” Darcy says, eyes flicking up to take in Sydney’s impeccable suit, a sharp navy blue, paired with killer heels that probably cost more than Darcy would make on her next three paychecks.  Focusing on her monitor, Darcy rolls her lip between her teeth, fingers flying across the keys. Her phone and computer ping with new email notifications and her shoulders tense. “Ugh.”

 

“I have 45 minutes before I need to be back in my department,” Sydney points out.

 

“One sec,” she says, holding out a finger with one hand.

 

“If you’re quick we can make it down to Cheese on Toast. Sarah says it’s to die for.”

 

“Working,” Darcy repeats, then pauses long enough to shoot Sydney a glance. “Wait, Sarah from HR or the one from reception with the grabby hands?”

 

“HR. We’re bonding.”

 

Darcy scoffs and turns back to her monitor. “Doubtful.”

 

“I have people skills, it’s why they hired me.”

 

“And I don’t?” Darcy teases with mock-offense. She holds up a hand to forestall Sydney’s rebuttal. “Nevermind, I’m not listening, anyway. What’s this place?”

 

“It’s a grilled cheese restaurant,” Sydney informs her in a plaintive tone, clearly going back to her initial tactic in luring Darcy away. “Cheese, Darcy, ooey gooey melted cheese.”

 

“That is just plain wrong coming out of your mouth, Miss-I-Only-Eat-Salad-at-Lunch. Also, still not listening.”

 

Sydney sighs, tapping her perfect nails on the corner of Darcy’s monitor. “It’s a little unconventional, I know, but they apparently serve salad with the cheese and bread. It’s very charming.”

 

“Done,” Darcy says, putting the monitor to sleep and pushing back from the desk. She swipes up her phone  with one hand while reaching for her bag with the other. Her phone pings with another email. It’s undoubtedly from Brandon so Darcy feels justified in ignoring it as she shoulders her bag. She holds her hand out in a gesture to let Sydney lead the way. “Now you may seduce me with your dairy based dirty talk.”

 

* * *

 

Darcy pushes through the doors into her building and ignores the ringing phone at the bottom of her bag. Whoever is calling will just have to wait until she’s in the mood to talk to people. Probably Monday at this rate. The ‘Out of Order’ sign taped to the elevator mocks her as she passes. Grumbling, she slips off her shoes, unable to stomach the thought of having to keep them on one more moment, let alone walk up multiple flights of stairs in them. She might need to think about keeping a pair of sneakers to wear to and from the office at this rate. Her feet will definitely be grateful. The tiles are cool under her bare toes and Darcy can’t help letting out a little moan of pleasure before she climbs the stairs. Floor by freaking floor.

 

The lock doesn’t fight her this time after a week of practice and she slips into her apartment without any human interaction. Well, other than the weirdo on the T, who kept spouting gibberish in the general direction of her tits. That's pretty much par for the course at this point, though it doesn't make the whole situation any less aggravating or insulting.

 

After tossing her shoes by the door, Darcy makes her way into the bedroom. She drops her bag on the unmade bed and unzips the skirt, wiggling out of it and letting it pool around her ankles. She unbuttons the blouse and doesn’t even make an attempt to catch it as the fabric flutters to the ground, adding to the growing pile. Reaching behind her back, she undoes the clasp of her bra, pushes the straps down her shoulders and drops the bra onto the pile. With a sigh of relief, she rubs her hands under her breasts, right where the underwire has been digging in all day, and makes a mental note to hang everything up. In a minute. Pulling open a dresser drawer she drags out her faded Tom Selleck: The Orginal Mustache Ride t-shirt and red pajama shorts.

 

Once dressed, she flops back on the bed with a heavy sigh and roots through her discarded bag for her phone. The missed call earlier was from her mom and she’s lacking the energy tonight to return it. She scrolls through her saved numbers for the pizza place, orders a pepperoni pizza and side salad for dinner, then, out of habit, checks her email. Nothing from Jane; no real surprise there. She didn’t tend to reply to anything if the science was flowing strong. Darcy ignores the email from her dad and the two emails from Amazon telling her all about things she doesn’t want and can’t afford anyway. Since there’s still time to waste until the pizza arrives and she’s not feeling particularly ambitious, Darcy wades through all the social media she missed most of the week.

 

She opens up the Twitter app and her thumbs hover over the keypad, mentally composing her message. Her first official week as an adult. So far, she’s learned that being an adult is overrated, but at least she’s made a friend and lives in a pretty amazing, if empty, apartment. Which, maybe furniture should be on her to do list for this weekend. Maybe just for this month. All in all, something has to be said for still having a pulse and most of her marbles. Her thumbs swipe across the screen, tapping out her composition.

 

_**darce_vader:** First week of this adulting nonsense complete. Overrated, overtired, over-caffeinated. Have also acquired work nemesis. #bagofdicks   _

 

Darcy posts the message and tries to let the stress of the week ebb from her body via the medium of cat gifs, bad puns and dissertations melted down into one hundred and forty characters. She’s not even halfway down her twitter feed when she gives up with a yawn, dropping the phone to her chest and closing her eyes. Her fingers glide back and forth over her belly as she pushes away the noise and clutter of work thoughts.

 

The image of her hot neighbor floats through her mind, specifically the dumb smirk on his lips as he stood in his doorway in nothing but a damp towel. A jolt of arousal spikes down her spine and settles between her thighs. Darcy shakes the thought away, pressing her thighs together to avoid getting off to thoughts of Colin. Dragging her teeth over her bottom lip, she checks the time on her phone. Twenty minutes till pizza time. It’s enough. She teases her fingers under the elastic waistband of her shorts and flicks through the bookmarks on her phone to find some more suitable material before her thoughts drift again.

 

A knock sounds on the door and Darcy freezes, panic surging through her at having been caught, literally, with her hand down her pants. She breathes a sigh as she mentally reminds herself that, obviously, they aren’t going to know what she’s doing on this side of the door. Irritation at the interruption immediately replaces the quickly dwindling panic.  

 

“Fuck off,” she mutters, rolling to her feet.  It’s too early for the pizza guy and, at this point, she’s kind of craving a different kind of satisfaction that doesn’t come from melted cheese coupled with pepperoni.

 

Padding through the apartment and up the steps, she opens the door with a scowl on her face. “What?”

 

Colin’s eyes flick down to her t-shirt, a wicked smirk breaking out on his face. “Nice shirt,” he says, not bothering to look up. She isn’t naive enough to think his eyes are just admiring the awesome picture of Magnum P.I. with his glorious mustache emblazoned on her chest. She clears her throat and there’s not one ounce of remorse to be found on his face when he finally looks her in the eyes. “Never would’ve pegged you as a Selleck fan.”     

 

“There's a lot you don't know about me, Shea. Purported love of Selleck is just the tip of the iceberg,” Darcy shrugs. He’s fully dressed in a plain blue Henley with a row of buttons down the front and low-slung jeans. There is a little bit of relief that he isn’t distractingly naked this time. It’s probably the last thing she needs at the moment, all things considered. She already has enough mental fodder that shouldn’t be in her brain. Besides, it’s not like the shirt he’s wearing leaves a lot to the imagination anyway. She’s half tempted to ask if he got that in the boys section, but thinks better of it. Stepping back out of the doorway, she gestures for him to come inside.  

 

Colin bounds down the stairs to her empty living room, quietly surveying the space. He spins around and points to her. “Did you know he was originally offered the role of—”

 

“Indiana Jones,” Darcy finishes for him, a smug smile tugging at her lips as she goes down the stairs. “Doesn’t everyone know that?”

 

“You ever gonna get any more furniture?”

 

“I’m working on it,” she snaps. Regardless of whether or not he meant for it to, the question rankles and Darcy folds her arms across her chest in a huff.  “Are you here to bust my balls over lack of decor or is there a point to your visit?”

 

“Cheer up, D. I brought you a present, as promised.” He holds up a lone bottle in his hand.

 

She looks at him with narrowed eyes, shifting focus from his face, cheerful and as expectant as a puppy, to the lone bottle and back to Colin. Colin, who still looks like he's waiting for praise. “That doesn’t look like a case, Shea.”

 

Colin shrugs, his head cocked to the side and lips quirked in that sort of smile that instantly has her on guard, trying to figure out his agenda. “Rest of it is at my place.”

 

“Doesn’t do me much good there, does it?” Darcy points out. She grabs the proffered bottle, making sure to take it before he can keep it and put it back with the rest of the case. The glass is wet against her palm, the edge of the label slipping slightly from the beaded condensation. The cap is a pry top, and she’s mentally racking her brain, trying to remember which drawer she ended up tossing her bottle opener in when she unpacked as she makes her way to the kitchen.

 

“Figured we could split it when I didn’t have to pick up a last minute shift,” Colin says. There’s something in his tone, the pacing of his words, that has her looking up from rummaging in the drawer.  His hands are tucked in his pockets now that they were empty, leaning against the support pillar in the otherwise empty room. “You can bring Tom with you if you want,” he adds with a nod to her t-shirt and a little smirk.

  
Ignoring the innuendo, or what she thinks might be innuendo but there's no way in hell she's asking, Darcy instead focuses on rummaging through the drawer for the opener. Not on Colin, though her eyes keep trying to drag themselves over his form. Once located, Darcy pops the top off the beer and drops the bottle opener back in the drawer, closing it with her hip. She lifts the bottle to her lips, taking a long, slow pull. The beer is ice cold and rich, smooth on her tongue. It hits the spot, a perfect cap to her work week. Humming thoughtfully, she takes another sip while she considers his offer.

 

“Well,” she says finally, smiling at him over the top of her beer, “since you don't have complete shit taste in beer, shocker, by the way," she adds, pointing at him with a tip of the bottle. She grins at his dramatic eye-roll as she continues, "We might be able to swing something. You’ve got yourself a deal.”  


	5. 'cause I'm still trying to figure it out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Colin has a night out that doesn't quite go as planned. Then, he runs into a familiar face at work on Monday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...hey! Sorry this took forever to update, but I hope you find the wait to be worth it. This chapter wouldn't have been possible without Jadecharmer's help. She's fantastic. And she's a terrific writer, so, do yourself a favor and go read her stuff after this. :)

Colin bounds down the stairs towards the basement with the laundry bag he’s had since college slung over his shoulder. The song he's whistling, one he’s been working on for the last week, bounces and echoes off the stairwell walls.  He keeps backtracking in the tune, tinkering with the same section because it just isn't sounding right yet. Might need to go back and grab his guitar at some point, because this is gonna nag at him.

 

As he approaches the laundry room at the end of the hall, there's the familiar rump-rump sound of the running washers. There's something else, though. Colin stops whistling, even as he keeps walking, and he can hear the washers have a back-up soloist helping out today. Lyrics, interspersed with humming, filter into the hallway in an off-key tone.

 

When he walks into the laundry room, Colin instantly spots the source. His lips twitch into a smirk, taking in the sight.  Darcy's dancing in front of an open dryer, her back to the doorway and full-sized headphones covering her ears. She's singing with her hips swaying and he recognizes that Meghan Trainor song that he can't seem to escape.   

 

“I’m all about that bass, ‘bout that bass, no treble," she warbles, that off-tune pitch oddly endearing. She drops her hips only to shimmy back up on the next line. "I’m all about that bass, ‘bout that bass, no treble.  Yeah, it’s pretty clear, I ain’t no size two.  But I can shake it, shake it, like I’m supposed to do.”

 

A low laugh rumbles through Colin's chest as he crosses the room and tosses his laundry bag on the large table in the center of the room. He doesn’t even bother with unloading the bag, or actually getting his laundry in the machine. Instead, Colin, leans back against the table, arms crossed, to completely and shamelessly watch Darcy.

 

Her little performance continues through the rest of the verse and chorus. Long enough for Colin to finish loading his washer and for Darcy to transfer her clean clothes to the basket at her feet. As she's launching into a new song, Darcy picks up the basket and turns, yelping in surprise. Of course, she fumbles the laundry basket in her surprise.  Half of her clean clothes spill to the floor.

 

“Shit!” Darcy squeaks, color blooming in her cheeks. With a glare that could peel paint off a wall, she frowns down at pile on the floor before aiming that look on him. He’s pretty positive she isn’t trying to be adorable right now, but it is what it is.  

 

She blows out a breath, pushes the headphones back, letting them wrap around her neck.  “I suppose you—”

 

“Caught the whole show?” Colin interjects happily, squatting down to help her pick up the laundry scattered on the floor.  

 

“Oh, I sure did,” he grins.  “And really, don’t sell your treble short, Sparkles.  You’ve got a helluva lot workin’ in your favor.”

 

Darcy rolls her eyes.  “That was pathetic,” she grumbles.  “I would’ve expected better.”

 

Unfazed, Colin just shrugs and picks up the pair of blue polka dotted panties still on the floor.  His eyebrow quirks up with interest as a grin sneaks across his face.  

 

“These are cute,” he says, letting them dangle from the tip of his index finger.

 

“Jesus!” Darcy snaps, snatching the panties out of his grasp, burying them at the bottom of her laundry basket.  “Why is it that I always seem to manage to embarrass myself around you?”  

 

“Is that a rhetorical question?” he asks with a laugh, standing up and setting Darcy’s basket on the table.  

 

Her face twists in annoyance as she pushes to her feet. She's mumbling something indiscernible, definitely not complementary, which, hey, no skin off his ass—he heard far worse before 7:00 am today.  Night shifts are always full of run-ins with the biggest dicks in the city.  

 

Colin hops up on the table next to where Darcy’s folding clothes. Her face scrunches, but Darcy doesn’t actually outright object as she continues to fold and stack. She gets a couple of items in when he notices that she’s rummaging around the basket more, avoiding the stuff right on top. And yeah, that makes him curious. He's nosy, so what?   

 

Leaning over, he ignores the outraged squawk and the slap to his upper arm which, ow, okay, that had little bit of force behind it.  Instead of commenting, he pulls out the first thing that catches his eye with a crow of victory. The trophy he’s holding aloft is a midnight blue bra with more frills and lace than he, frankly, would have guessed she owned. He's not entirely sure he wanted to know that Darcy has this little number because he's definitely going to be thinking about it the next time he sees her dressed up for work. And he’s better off not having those kind of thoughts about another neighbor since that worked out so well for him last time.

  

“Predictable,” Darcy tells him flatly, snagging the bra back and folding it.  “If you’re going to rifle through my stuff, at least make yourself useful.”

 

The corner of his mouth kicks up, and while Colin probably shouldn’t say the first thing that springs to mind, he does it anyway.  

 

“So you do want my hands on your panties,” he says lowly, grin broadening over the baleful look she casts his way.  

 

Her answering laugh is mocking at best, no doubt aimed to cut him off at the knees, but he lets himself be amused rather than insulted. “You’re a grown man,” she informs him with an eyeroll. “Get better lines.”  

 

“No shortage of success with my lines, D.”  Though Colin’s not gonna tell her how long it’s been since he’s actually dropped a line in the water.

 

Darcy groans, head tipping back. “I’m gonna go blind from rolling my eyes at you today. Here,” she recovers, thrusting one end of a fitted sheet in his hands, “help me.  It doesn’t matter how many times I watch that stupid Martha Stewart tutorial on folding fitted sheets, I can’t figure it out.”  

 

Colin grins as he tightens his grip on the edge of the sheet. He takes a few steps back from Darcy until the fabric is taut.

 

“Just watch and learn, Lewis,” he tells her with a jut of his chin. “And don’t do anything,” he adds, enjoying, maybe a little too much, the way her mouth twists into a scowl. “Don’t want you messing up my masterpiece.”

 

With four quick folds, he has a perfectly edged fitted sheet folded and sitting on the table. He takes a step back, holding his hands out to present the stack to Darcy with a cocky little bow.

 

“Are you even kidding me with this right now, Shea?” Darcy asks, staring at the stack in her hands with a critical eye. Colin raises his eyebrows, not saying a word even as he turns back to his own laundry.

 

“What sorcery is this? Seriously. Just, what even?” Darcy continues, setting the sheet  carefully on top of her pile, as if she’s afraid it’s going to fall apart as soon as she touches it. “Where’d you learn that?”

 

Colin shrugs, even though he can feel Darcy’s eyes staring into the middle of his back.

 

“Full house growing up and a mom that ran a tight ship,” he tells her while finally dumping in a load of laundry. He groans internally. Of course he forgot his detergent upstairs. Sure, it’s a quick trip back up, but Darcy’s bottle on the table, right there and handy. Besides, he shared his mad sheet-folding skills; soap sharing seems like a good return favor.

 

He grabs the bright orange container, opening it to give it a sniff. Not too girly, thank god. He dumps in a cupful.

 

“By all means,” Darcy says, sarcasm practically dripping, when he twists the cap on and puts the container back where he found it.  “Help yourself.”  

 

With his cycle started, Colin leans against the sorting table, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches Darcy mangle the art of pairing socks. “I scratched your back, you can scratch mine.” He reaches over and takes the pair she just tossed back in the basket, pulling them apart and folding them again.

 

“I didn’t realize I was going to be criticized on every aspect of my folding skills when I enlisted your help,” Darcy says, snatching back her socks.  “And I’m not scratching anything for you.”

 

“Here I thought we were getting to be friends, D. I’m hurt. Mortally wounded, in fact,” Colin informs her, hand over his heart. “I was even going to invite you out tonight with some friends. Great band. Prime opportunity to show off your bass,” he adds with a wiggle of his eyebrows and a once over. “Plus, good beer.”

 

“You’re trying pretty hard to sell this to me,” Darcy remarks. And yeah, maybe he is, he realizes with a start. He doesn’t really care to think about why, though.

 

Colin plays it off with a shrug. “Just trying to expand your Boston knowledge. Give you the insider track on the best spots.”

 

“Appreciate it,” Darcy replies. “But I don’t want to do anything tonight that requires a bra or real pants.”  

 

Colin’s shoulders slump slightly, even as he leans in, meeting Darcy’s eyes. “If those are your only requirements, I’ve got an alternative in mind,” he offers, though it’s half-hearted at best.

 

“Oh, very irresistible offer,” Darcy replies, patting him on the shoulder, corners of her lips turned up in amusement. “But, sadly, I’m going to have to pass. You enjoy your night out, though. Make good decisions.”

 

“Where’s the fun in that?”

 

Darcy shrugs and packs up her laundry basket.  “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.  Need another cup before I leave?” she asks, holding up the bottle of Tide.  

 

Colin holds up his empty laundry bag. “Should be good for now.”

 

Darcy drops the bottle back in the basket and offers him a wave. “Later then, Shea.”

 

“Later,” Colin echoes, watching as Darcy gives her ass a wiggle as she walks out the door. She shoots him a grin over her shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

 

He’s left alone in the laundry room, only the rhythmic thumping of the washer to keep him company. It’ll still be fun, he tells himself. He’s long overdue for a good night out.

 

* * *

 

“You gonna take the shot or circle the table all fuckin’ night?” Colin asks his brother as he changes course, sizing up the pool table like it’s a crime scene and he’s looking for clues.  

 

Jack’s eyes don’t leave the felt when he answers, “I’m shooting pool, Fats.  When I miss, you can shoot.”

 

Groaning, Colin rolls his eyes at Will, his partner who finally managed to tag along for a night out.  

 

“Thinks he’s Paul Newman, this guy. Shoot the damn ball, John John.” Jack looks up in annoyance at the nickname. Colin grins innocently back.  

 

“I think I’m too young for that reference,” Will replies.

 

“You’re older than me,” Colin points out. He hears the chip of the cue ball hitting another and looks up just in time to see the 8 ball sink smoothly into the side pocket. Jack stands up, shit-eating grin already in place.

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Colin tells him, pointing his finger at his older brother. “Next round is still on you.”

 

Jack hands his pool stick off to Will as he walks past, giving Colin a pat on the back.

 

“Always were a sore loser. Couldn’t even play Candy Land with the kid when we were younger.” He juts his chin towards the almost empty glass in Colin’s hand. “Same thing?”

 

Colin nods and Will pauses in racking up the balls to hold up two fingers, requesting the same.

 

“So,” Will says as he removes the triangle, placing it back in the slot of the table. Colin leans down to grab the cue ball, rolling it around in his hand as he studies the table to figure out his first shot.

 

“So?” Colin prompts, placing the ball.

 

“You’re quiet tonight. And you haven’t ditched us once to go get your flirt on. Or have one of the random quick hook ups where you come back with a shit-eating grin that’s annoying as all hell.”

 

“And?” Colin asks, taking the shot and managing to sink a ball. “Stripes.”

 

“And that’s kind of weird,” Will says. “Not that I’m complaining,” he adds, holding his hands up. Jack walks by and passes off one of the beers to his outstretched hand. “Just saying it’s a little unusual.”

 

Colin takes a drink of his own beer while Jack settles in at the high top table beside him.

 

“Night is still young,” he says nonchalantly. “Figure I can take care of that after I’m done beating you at this game. Besides, the brunette at three o’clock has been giving me the eye for the last half hour.”

 

Both Will and Jack immediately crane their necks to see the woman at the bar.  

 

Colin drops his head. “Subtle, guys. You’re both fantastic cops.  Way to make the force proud.”  

 

“We’re both married with kids,” Jack points out. “Subtle went out the window after the first two years.”

 

With a shake of his head, Colin focuses back on the table, lining up the next shot. He frowns when it goes wide, missing the mark.

 

“The bar will be closed before you win a game,” Jack remarks dryly. “Maybe you should just wait until I finish this beer so I can go home. It’s getting painful to watch.”

 

“Point is,” Will interjects, lining up his own shot. “Is that after Ally, I expected an immediate return to the man-whore ways, complete with ridiculous stories that I’d have to hear about our entire shift on Monday. And, so far, that hasn’t happened.”

 

“Probably shouldn’t happen, either, if you want to make Mom happy,” Jack interjects with a grin that puts a feeling of dread in Colin’s stomach.

 

“Nope,” Colins shakes his head, jabbing a finger at Jack. “We’re not starting that. No bringing Ma into this,” he orders, hands gesturing widely in a large circle encompassing the general bar.

 

“Too late,” Jack says. “I’m already married, mission accomplished there. And Holly and I gave her three grandkids. Cait’s the baby, still in school...where do you think that leaves her focus?”

 

“You know, brother, I hear four is a nice, round number for kids. Or a dog,” Colin muses. “Ma could always get another dog.” He leans in, hands spread wide on his chest. “Hell, I’ll even be the one to get her a dog.”

 

Jack shakes his head. “She already has two pugs. Dad would kill you.”

 

“Better than Ma trying to match-make me,” Colin points out, watching as Will starts cleaning up the table. Shit, tonight really isn’t his night.

 

“All I’m sayin’ is you’re turnin’ 30 soon.  Better watch out at Sunday dinners from now on.  I overheard her on the phone with Marsha Donaldson the other day. Apparently Courtney’s single again.”

 

“Yeah, real surprise there,” Colin snorts. “I’d rather raw dog a beehive than go out with that basketcase. Besides, I already punched my ticket for a ride on her crazy train in college. Once was plenty.”

 

“And with that mental image, I’m going to need another round,” Will says dryly as he takes his shot, sinking the ball. He looks up at Jack. “You in? It’s my turn to buy.”

 

Jack drains the rest of his beer, waving his hand. “Nah, I’m about ready to head out. Wouldn’t want to get in the way of Colin’s A game,” he says with a crooked smile. “Also, Holly got cut from her shift at the hospital and the kids are spending the night at her parents’ house, so...” he trails off.

 

“I get it, man,” Will nods.  “Gotta take advantage of those rare kid-free nights.”  

 

“Yeah, you go ahead and work on baby number four,” Colin agrees, slapping his brother on the back harder than necessary, laughing and dodging when Jack swings his leg out to kick him. “That’ll leave me in the free and clear.”  

 

“Yuk it up, dickhead,” Jack tells him and tosses a few bills on the table. “We’ll see who’s laughing soon enough.” He grins at Will and shakes his hand with a clap to the shoulder before looking at Colin with a wicked gleam in his eyes.  

 

Colin knows that look all too well; he damn sure saw it enough times growing up and it always meant one thing—trouble. Usually at Colin’s expense. There’s an uneasy feeling crawling up the back of his neck, and Jack’s grin widens, knowing full well he hit the mark. Asshole.

 

“Enjoy the rest of your night, little bro.” Jack pays him back in kind, clapping him on the shoulder with extra force.

 

Colin shrugs it off, shoving Jack in the chest.  “See you at family dinner tomorrow.”

 

With a laugh and little salute, Jack disappears in the crowd as he heads for the door.

 

“Alright, let’s finish this game,” Colin says to Will, grabbing the chalk for his cue tip.  He notices Will texting with a dopey smile on his face and knows he’s about to get ditched again. “Lemme guess...Nat’s got a craving. What is it tonight?”

 

His partner feigns annoyance with a little sigh, but Colin isn’t buying it.  He can practically see the cartoon hearts in Will’s eyes.  

 

“Shredded beef nachos,” he answers, glancing down at the screen when his phone beeps with another message. He grimaces. “And mint chocolate chip ice cream.”

 

Colin chuckles. “Not as random and disgusting as the deviled eggs and cotton candy from last week.” Will shudders in remembrance, pulling the same face he did then. “Takin’ off?”

 

“Yeah.  Happy wife, happy life, you know?”

 

“Sure,” Colin shrugs, like he knows the first thing about having a wife, and drinks the last of his beer. “I wouldn’t want to deprive her food, either, man. She’s six months pregnant, but I’d still bet on her to take you down.”  

 

Will places his hand on his chest. “Your lack of faith wounds me. Some partner you are.”

 

“Oh, like I’m wrong,” he snorts. “Gimme a break, Sullivan.  Alright, man, get outta here.  I’ll see ya Monday.”

 

Pulling out his wallet, Will hands Colin a twenty.  “Next round is still on me.  Have fun,” he says with a grin, then walks away.

 

“Not gonna tell me to make good decisions?” Colin calls out after him.

 

Will snorts and yells back, without even turning around. “Why start now?”

 

Colin grins and turns back to put away his pool stick. He then drops off the two empties at the bar, signaling for another. While the bartender goes to grab his drink, Colin leans against the bar, far enough in front of the crowd to get a glance at the woman from earlier. She’s still at the end, though there’s a guy talking to her now, which sucks. He’s gonna have to start scoping out the bar again for another shot.

 

However, luck seems to be on his side and, by the time Colin pays for his drink and leaves a tip, the guy is gone. There’s an empty space at the bar next to the woman and, on top of that, she’s looking right at him with a look he knows well. He can feel himself settle, slipping into old habits with ease.

 

Colin meets her eyes and dips his head in acknowledgement. He tips the beer bottle to gesture to the empty space next to her, eyebrows raised. The woman shrugs, but her self-assured smile seems to say it’s the guy’s loss for running away. With one more blatant once over, Colin is pretty damn inclined to agree.

 

The woman raises her glass, with only a little bit of liquid remaining, and finishes it off. Curious, Colin watches as she tips her head to the side, towards the bar entrance. He might be rusty, but Colin definitely remembers and recognizes the universal invitation to get the hell ouf of there. Without waiting for an answer, she turns around and slides off her barstool, walking away, hips swaying with every step.

 

Colin grins and leaves his beer untouched on the bar.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Colin flops back on the bed, sweat cooling on his heated skin. His chest rises and falls while he waits for that post-orgasmic high to take over, but it’s just not happening. With a wrinkle of his nose, he takes off the used condom, tying it and dropping it in the small, purposely convenient, trashcan by the bed.

 

The mattress shifts beside him and Colin glances over to see the woman, Sophie? Steph? Something with an S, he’s pretty sure, rifling around in the covers. Not pulling them over her to tuck in for the night, but, instead, lifting up various corners and folds, peering under them before letting them drop. He reaches over and plucks the bit of fabric and lace shoved between the pillows behind him, letting the bra dangle from the tips of his fingers.

 

“Lookin’ for this?” Colin asks dryly. The woman plucks the bra from his hand without looking even the slightest bit uncomfortable.

 

“Let me know if you find the matching underwear,” she tells him as she hooks the bra on, adjusting the straps, flashing him a grin. “I hate when I break up a set.”

 

Colin huffs, amused.

 

“You in a rush to head out?” he asks, inclining his head as he watches her bend over to search under the bed. Sue him, she has an amazing ass. “Could order in, maybe go another round.” He’s already kicking himself, the air changing as soon as the words leave his mouth. It’s too damn late to take them back now.

 

The woman stands up, holding her skirt in one hand and her underwear in the other, a funny look on her face.

 

“I’m good, thanks,” she says, eyebrows raised. “Gotta get going. No overnights.”

 

“Right,” Colin says faintly, scrubbing a hand rough over his face. Yeah. Like he needs to be reminded of just how one night stands go with random people picked up in bars.

 

He snorts softly to himself. Apparently he does, actually, since he’s the jackass that just stuck his foot in his mouth. Fuck, he used to do this, no problem, on the regular.

 

Though, back then, he was always the one that couldn’t away fast enough.

 

There’s this kind of knotted feeling in his stomach, combined with a heavy, dull feeling in his chest that, if it weren’t for the weight, would almost feel hollow. Empty.

 

The whole thing just feels wrong, awkward, and unwelcome, an unsettled feeling under his skin that he can’t seem to shake.

 

The woman, S-something, pulls the skirt up and over her hips, glancing back at him when he doesn’t say anything else.

 

“Nothing personal,” she says with a dismissive shrug. “Just a rule we have.”

 

Colin’s brow furrows. “We?”

 

“Open marriage,” she says, as if that explains it all. He immediately glances at her hand, wondering if he could really have been that blind, but there’s no ring, no line. Nothing.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” she dismisses with a wave of her empty hand. She glances at him, then, probably reading the incredulity in his face, rolls her eyes and tilts her head. “It’s not a big deal.”

 

Colin lets out a bark of a laugh, short and bitter, because doesn’t that just perfectly cap off the night?

 

“Right,” he repeats, voice still faint.

 

“Don’t have a breakdown on me,” S-something comments, voice light. “I’m seriously not sticking around for any emotional interludes.”

 

“Christ,” Colin mutters, hunching his shoulders, “I’m good.”

 

He drops his legs over the side of the bed, feet hitting the floor with a solid thump. Colin keeps his back to the woman as he roots around in his dresser, eventually pulling out and putting on clean boxers, followed up by a pair of sweatpants. More than he usually puts on post-sex, but he kinda feels like he needs it right now.

 

“I’ll let you grab the rest of your stuff,” he says with a wave of his hand, indicating the general area. He doesn’t look back once as he walks away from the bed, head ducked.

 

Once out of the bedroom, Colin immediately goes to the kitchen. A minute or so after he walks out, he can hear the water running in his bathroom.

 

He wipes his hands on his pants, sticks them in the pockets, only to abruptly pull them out to open the fridge door. Which, once open, he ends up having a stare down with the case of beer sitting on the bottom shelf.

 

Lips pursed, he caves with a mental ‘fuck it,’ and grabs one. He opens the beer with a quick jerk of the bottle opener before dropping the tool back in the drawer, slamming it shut with a jut of his hip.

 

The beer is cold, but it does nothing to get rid of the bitter taste in his mouth.

 

The water in the bathroom shuts off and the woman walks out into the kitchen shortly after. Her hair is pulled up, but other than that, she looks just as put together as she did at the bar earlier in the night. Like Colin never happened.

 

“Thanks again,” she says as she walks by, wide, slow steps, shoulders back. She gives him a wink when she’s in front of the door, pulling on her shoes. “It was fun.”

 

Colin tips his head and raises the beer in a sarcastic toast. “No problem. Get home safe.”

 

There’s a soft exhale, her lips quirked in amusement that feels like mockery. And damn if that doesn’t give him a sharp twist to the gut. Just fan-fucking-tastic on top of those knots he’s feeling already.

 

Colin covers up the cringe with another swig from the bottle.

 

The last he sees of S-something is the flutter of her hand waving adios, followed by the solid thud of his front door closing.

 

He takes one more drink, jerking the bottle away from his mouth. His lips twist, the liquid bitter on his tongue. Even though there’s nothing wrong with it, and it’s a waste of a perfectly good beer, Colin ends up dumping the rest of it down the sink. He tosses the bottle in recycling and, after a brief glance back at his bed, settles on the couch with the TV on. Halfway through the first episode of Friends, Colin ends up pulling the blanket off the back, falling asleep sometime during the third episode.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Well, that was a waste of time,” Colin grumbles, stepping through the gate onto the sidewalk. He slips his sunglasses out of his shirt collar and puts them on to combat the bright Monday morning sun.

 

With a noncommittal grunt, Will just shrugs, spinning the keys in his hand as they head for the squad car. Four times in as many weeks they’ve been called out to this same address to settle a petty and childish dispute between a couple of fifty-something neighbors involving a tree. “They’ll be at this shit again next week, I’m sure.”  

 

“Probably so,” Will agrees. “S’part of the job, Shea.”

 

“I know,” Colin sighs. His partner’s right. Besides, they both damn sure know better than to go around wishing for excitement in their line of work. He perks up. “You could always let me drive.”  

 

Will shakes his head, opening the driver side door. He doesn’t get in, and, instead, leans on the roof of the car, foot propped up in the door frame. “Nope. Don’t feel like having to fill out the requisition paperwork for a new squad today, sorry. Or the insurance forms. Or the incident report. Or talk to the—”

 

“I’m a fantastic driver,” Colin cuts off. “Best in my class for evasive maneuvers.”

 

“Not reassuring,” Will replies, smirking as he drops into the driver’s seat. Colin gets in, recognizing a lost cause when he sees one, and closes the passenger side door.

 

“Fine, but music is mine,” he declares, blocking Will’s hand when he reaches for the radio.  “I am not in the mood for your emo choices right now.”

 

Will glances at him, aghast. “Plebian! Miles Davis isn’t emo. Fuck’s sake, man, you’re a musician. Have some respect.”

 

Colin chuckles and pats Will’s shoulder. “I’m not knocking him; you know I dig his music.  All I’m saying is there’s a time and place for jazz and it ain’t today. Nope. Today is all about Taylor.”  

 

He ignores Will’s sigh, which is a little on the dramatic side, to be honest, as he thumbs through the music downloads on his phone. Hey, if he isn’t allowed to drive, then he’ll purposely choose something he knows is gonna annoy his partner. Colin switches the station to sync up to the phone just in time to hear the first notes of the intro song trickle out of the speakers.

 

“Now this,” he says, holding up the screen of his phone so Will can see the album art, “this is gonna make for a good day.” Colin settles back into his seat just as Taylor starts signing about how bright the lights are in New York.Will puts the car in gear with a roll of his eyes before grabbing for his own sunglasses.   

 

“I seriously don’t know how you, a grown ass man, and that’s even ignoring the musician part, can listen to this pop crap. No self-respect,” Will grumbles.

 

“You’ll be humming along by the end of the shift, don’t worry.”

 

Will snorts. “Survival through Stockholm Syndrome don’t count, man.”

 

Colin ignores him and focuses instead on the song. He hums as he uses the laptop to add the updates about the last incident to their daily log. He’ll still have to do the report once he’s back in the office, but at least it’ll be a short one.

 

“So, explain one thing to me, then,” Will says somewhere into the fourth track. He waves to a group of school kids on the corner, waiting with their teacher under a row of trees already turning color for the signal to change.

 

Colin adds his own two finger wave, hand tipping from his temple in a salute to the kids. They’re old enough to not be enamored with police officers anymore, though he catches one kid giving a little concealed wave in front of his body with a small grin. He turns away from the kids, feeling a little better than he did just five minutes ago.

 

“Jesus, Sullivan. You’ve got one kid already and another on the way. Do you really need me to explain the birds and the bees to you?”

 

Will lets out a sarcastic laugh and slugs him on the shoulder.

 

“Seriously, why do you listen to this?” he asks. “It’s not the kind of stuff you play or write. It’s like...glitter pop princess sparkles stuff. The sort of thing that gets stuck in your head because it’s catchy, but there’s no longevity to it. Any sane person’s gonna be sick of it in three months after constant radio play.”

 

“Her hugely successful career that’s a decade long and counting suggests otherwise, but good try, though,” Colin smirks, closing the laptop. “Look, I’ll give you that she’s not the best singer; I just don’t think you have to be the best vocally to make music that matters. And she is talented.”

 

Will makes a sour face, but Colin isn’t deterred. “Think about it, man. She’s written or co-written every song she’s ever recorded, she plays multiple instruments, and she’s doesn’t hesitate to reinvent her sound to make the kind of music she wants to make.”

 

“Okay,” Will smirks, clearly amused. “At best I could see Taylor having appeal in the guilty pleasure kind of way—”

 

“Fuck that noise,” Colin cuts him off, face screwing up in disgust. “If you like something, like it. Don’t act like it’s a dirty secret or that you should feel bad for enjoying it. Someone has a problem with it, that’s their problem. So long as it’s not hurting anyone, I don’t see what the big damn deal is.”

 

Will holds up a hand. “Easy, tiger. You made your point.”

 

A self-satisfied smirk twitches across Colin’s mouth and he turns the volume up a notch as Shake It Off comes on. “Good. Because the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate.”

 

“Ugh,” Will groans. “I hate you.”

 

Colin glances over and catches Will tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the song. If he’s not mistaken, Will is also mouthing the lyrics. He jabs his finger at his partner, throwing his head back and whooping in victory.

 

“Dude, you’re so busted!”

 

Will swears under his breath. “Natalie and Harper both love this song, okay?” he explains with a sidelong, and challenging, look. “I came home the other night to find them dancing to it in the kitchen. Pretty damn cute.”

 

“You danced, too, didn’t ya?” At Will’s silence, Colin nudges him with his elbow. “C’mon, Sullivan. It’s okay to admit it. I won’t judge you.”

 

Will shrugs his shoulder as a corner of his mouth kicks up into the same dopey, lopsided little smile he gets whenever he talks about his family. “What my girls want, my girls get.”

  
  


Colin grins and shakes his head, already knowing how much of a sucker Will is for his wife and daughter. They are pretty damn cute, though.

 

He turns away from his partner, once again scanning the streets. Outside of their last call, it’s been a relatively slow morning. Which is fine. More time for Taylor. He’s about to suggest stopping for coffee, because he’s kind of needing a little bit of a hit right now, when he catches sight of a familiar face.

 

Colin takes a moment to appreciate the way her legs look in the dress she’s wearing. The boots give her an extra sway and sass to her stride that he likes. A lot.

 

Grinning, he reaches down to the center console and hits the siren, just a short burst. It’s enough to make Darcy jump, though, and whirl around to find the location of the sound. Her eyes narrow when she sees the car. Colin gives her a cheery wave.

 

“What the hell?” Will asks.

 

“Pull over,” Colin tells him, pointing to an empty stall on the side of the street near Darcy. “I know her.”

 

“Kind of figured that out,” says Will, tone dry even as he slows down to park. Colin lowers the radio and rolls down the window, before slumping casually into his seat with his arm resting on the window. When the car comes to a stop, Darcy is standing there, one eyebrow raised and the corner of her lips slightly turned up. Colin tips his sunglasses down his face with a finger on the nose bridge to peer over the lenses. He puts on his best ‘this is serious business’ face even as Will sighs in the seat beside him.

 

“Ma’am,” Colin greets. “Do you know why we stopped you?”

 

“Other than to be a pain in my ass, Riggs, I can’t think of one,” Darcy tosses back, drawing the cup of coffee in her hand up to her lips.  

 

Will snorts softly. “She’s got your number, Shea.”

 

Colin ignores him, focusing instead on the woman in front of him. “Just because my partner’s black doesn’t automatically make him Murtaugh, Darcy, that’s racist.”

 

“Well, he’s your partner, so he must be gettin’ real tired of your shit, Colin. That’s why he’s Murtaugh.”

 

Will laughs openly this time, leaning across the console to peer at Darcy.

 

“I don’t know you, but I like you already. Will Sullivan,” he says, adding a wave.

 

Darcy ducks down enough so she can actually see Will. “Darcy Lewis, offering up sympathy for what you suffer through on a daily basis.”

 

“Yeah, this is great,” Colin inserts. “So glad you two know each other now. Best idea ever.”

 

“Don’t blame me. You told me to pull over.” Will grins at Darcy before shooting a sidelong look at Colin that means nothing good. Will lowers his voice, as if confiding state secrets. “He’s been forcing me to listen to Taylor Swift while we drive around.”

 

Colin rolls his eyes, but he’s cut off by Darcy. _“‘Cause, darling, I’m a nightmare dressed like a daydream.”_ She gives Colin a wink.

 

Colin crows even as Will drops his head to the center console.

 

“Great. Another one,” he moans, his voice muffled.

 

“Better comfort your partner.” Darcy gestures to Will with her coffee cup. “He’s clearly in the middle of a crisis, being surrounded by all this awesome.”

 

Colin manages one pat, a sarcastically slow and exaggerated one, on Will’s head before the his hand is knocked away. Colin shrugs and turns back to Darcy.

 

“He’s clearly beyond my help,” he states in a serious tone. Colin points to her cup. “Can I see that for a sec?”  

 

Darcy snorts, clearly not fooled by his question, and takes another long, exaggerated sip from the cup. Colin keeps the smile on his face, trying for the endearing one that usually works like gold. He manages to not gloat when Darcy sighs and hands it to him anyway.

 

Colin takes an eager drink, then jerks the cup back with a sour expression. “Pumpkin spice. That’s the stuff you gotta warn a guy about.”

 

Darcy holds out her hand to take the cup back, smug victory written in her expression.

 

“Tis the season,” she replies gleefully.  

 

He doesn’t relinquish the cup, though. At this point, espresso is espresso. Bracing himself, he takes another drink, artificial pumpkin smacking his tastebuds.

 

Nope, he was wrong. Caffeine isn’t worth the gross aftertaste in his mouth.

 

With a shake of his head, he hands the cup back. “Yeah, that’s all yours. By the way, you’re a Masshole now, so you should start drinking Dunks like the rest of us.”

 

“I’m from Seattle. My Starbucks love runs deep. It’s pretty much a genetic obligation,” Darcy says seriously. She then cocks her head, as if a thought just occurred. “But, tell you what,” she adds with a finger point in his direction that immediately has his back up in suspicion. This sort of thing never ends well for him, based on past experience.

 

“Do I want to know?” he mutters.

 

“C’mon, it’s not that bad,” Darcy wheedles. “I’ll pick up the ‘Dunks’,” she says, adding sarcastic, and completely unnecessary air quotes around the word, because she’s a little shit like that, ”of your choice if you help me move the couch I’m going to buy.”

 

“About damn time you bought one,” Colin tells her, then backtracks. “And wait, why am I helping? Isn’t this the reason why they have people at stores for this stuff? So you don’t have to bribe people? With subpar bribes, too, I might add. I’m not that cheap.”

 

“Bullshit,” Will coughs.

 

Darcy grins. “The people at the store demand a kidney for a moving fee. Even with your apparently newfound lofty standards, you’re still cheaper.”

 

“Lunch,” Colin counters.

 

“What?”

 

“You’re gonna buy me lunch, with drinks, by the way, if I gotta borrow my brother’s truck to help you move a couch.”

 

She purses her lips, tipping her head from side to side.

 

“Take it or leave it,” Colin says. “After all, you have two kidneys.”

 

Darcy shrugs. “Fine, I suppose that’s fair. We got a deal?”

 

Colin holds out his hand and Darcy takes it to shake with a roll of her eyes. “Deal.”

 

“Well, since that’s settled, I should probably get to work. Not all of us can sit around bitching about coffee all day,” Darcy says, taking a step back from the car. “Will, good to meet you. Colin, remember our deal. I know where you live.”

 

“Yeah, that’s not as ominous as you’re trying to make it sound,” Colin informs her.

 

“Hey, before you run off,” Will says, “we’re gonna have a party for Colin’s birthday coming up, you should come. You give him enough shit, you’ll fit right in.”

 

Darcy laughs. “Yeah, sure, sounds good. Get my number from Colin and just text me the details.”

 

With a wave and a final goodbye, Darcy turns and walks away.

 

As Will is pulling back into traffic, he speaks up. “So, you gonna tell Jack that the girl you’re borrowing his truck for is hella cute? Or are we just taking that as a for granted fact given that I had to nag you for a week to help me move?”

 

“You want me to tell Natalie, your poor pregnant wife, that you called another woman ‘hella cute’?”

 

“Oh, that’s the way we’re gonna play it?” Will asks, amused. “Fine, I’ll leave it alone. You’ll tell me about her eventually. Besides,” he adds, “Nat would totally be on my side.”

  
“Keep thinking that, Sullivan. Now,” Colin declares, turning Taylor back up on the radio. “Let’s fulfill the stereotype and go get some coffee and doughnuts. I need something to get that crap pumpkin taste out of my mouth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is curious who we have fancast as Jack Shea, look no further than Chris Pratt. Don't even worry about it that he played "Disgusting Donald" in WYN, okay? And for Will Sullivan, we picture Anthony Mackie. We were going to name him Sam, but that seemed too on the nose, even for us. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. (I'm [typhoidmeri](http//typhoidmeri.tumblr.com) on tumblr and Katertots is [dopemixtape](dopemixtape.tumblr.com) for those of you who don't already follow our nonsensical ramblings, writing related rants, and posts of Chris Evans' stupid face)


End file.
